


As Luck Would Have It

by Emachinescat



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-05-01
Packaged: 2018-01-13 07:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 41,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1218301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Merlin accidentally breaks a sacred charm of an old witch lady, she curses him with bad luck. Arthur thinks Merlin's sudden lack of luck is hilarious, but when things get out of hand, Arthur and Merlin embark upon a quest to break the curse before Merlin really gets hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own "Merlin." And I wrote this story before I ever saw the rabbit foot episode of "Supernatural!" So there! ;)
> 
> Enjoy! :)

The deer stood gracefully beside the lazily winding river, her ears relaxed and head lowered as she drunk from the fresh water source. Ten feet away, concealed within the bushes, a well-muscled, blonde young man crouched, crossbow aimed, one index finger centimeters away from pulling the trigger.

Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, took a slow, steadying breath as he honed in on the target. It had been a rough morning, that was for sure. He had decided on a whim to go hunting – although a lot of his decision was based upon his amusement at seeing his servant complain about his  _least_  favorite activity – this morning, but it seemed that nothing had been going right since he and Merlin, his dark-haired, clumsy oaf of a servant, had left Camelot.

Arthur had managed to catch a rabbit, but that was it. It was after midday, and this doe was the first real prize that he had run across as all the animals had apparently decided that the warm summer sun was too hot for them, and there was no way that Arthur was going to let the deer get away.

His eyes narrowed fractionally as the doe's graceful head rose to sniff the air. It was now or never. Arthur steadied himself, made sure his aim was precise, and pulled his finger toward the trigger –

"Arthur!"

Arthur cursed as the deer bounded away at the sudden noise and flung his crossbow to the ground. Rounding on his servant, Arthur's light blue eyes met Merlin's own deep blue ones to see no amount of remorse for scaring away Arthur's catch. This only served to make the testy prince angrier – today had not been his day! " _Mer_ lin," he fumed, barely controlling his annoyance, "is there anything – _anything at all_  – that you're not a complete  _buffoon_ at?"

Merlin shrugged good-naturedly at the harsh tone Arthur was using – a tone that, Arthur noted dryly, had caused some of the kingdom's bravest knights to back away cautiously from their prince. Merlin, it seemed, wasn't (and by the looks of it, would never be) too terribly intimidated by his master. Although Merlin's cheekiness and refusal to let Arthur get away with anything was obnoxious sometimes – a lot of the time – Arthur couldn't help but be fond of his servant, not that he would ever let Merlin in on that little detail.

"Sorry," Merlin said simply, grinning easily at his master.

Arthur snorted, beyond annoyed. " _Sorry?_ " he snapped. "That deer—" he gestured wildly in the direction that the animal had fled, "—was the only thing worth killing on this stupid hunt, and you scared the blasted thing away! How am I supposed to feed the kingdom with you scaring away all the bloody animals?"

Merlin winced slightly at the irritation in Arthur's voice but then smiled. "I wouldn't say you're exactly 'feeding the kingdom,'" he began, but shut up at Arthur's glare. Merlin may have treated Arthur differently than any other servant – like more of a friend than a master – but even the clumsy warlock knew when to shut his mouth. After all, even though the two were closer than was customary for a prince and his servant, Arthur  _was_  still a prince, even if Merlin sometimes had to make himself remember that.

The rabbit Arthur had killed earlier dangling from his hands, Merlin hurried to catch up with Arthur, who had picked up his crossbow and was stalking irritably in the general direction that the deer had darted. "Sorry," he repeated. "I didn't mean to scare the deer away, but honestly, you can't tell me that you didn't feel just a  _little_  bad about what you were going to do? It was so peaceful and innocent…" He trailed off, knowing that Arthur would have felt no regret about doing something as natural to him as hunting, but his words achieved what he had hoped they would and made the prince smile and fall easily back into their normal routine of teasing each other. The tension eased almost immediately.

"Honestly, Merlin, you're such a girl."

"At least I'm not a prat."

"Merlin?"

"Yes, Arthur?"

"Shut up."

Merlin grinned and did what the prince had commanded, relieved that the aggravation Arthur had shown toward him earlier seemed to have dissipated with their usual banter. After a few minutes of silence, Merlin couldn't take it anymore. "Did you know that there's a house back there?" he asked conversationally.

Arthur rounded on him. "What are you talking about,  _Mer_ lin? No one lives in this part of the woods. We would know – Father took census just last year and there was no citizen accounted for living in the forest."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I didn't say that anyone was living there, Arthur," the secret warlock pointed out. "I just said that there's a house back there."

Arthur grunted. "I suppose that's why you decided to interrupt my hunt?"

Merlin laughed. "Nah. I just like to watch steam come out of your ears when your prey gets away."

Arthur wacked Merlin none-too-gently upside the head and the servant pouted as he massaged the offending sore spot. "Idiot," Arthur accused, almost affectionately. He paused. "You're sure it was a house?"

Merlin stared, disbelieving. "I think I know what a house looks like, Arthur. I lived in one all my life."

Arthur chuckled. "Well, we'd better go check it out. If someone  _is_  living there, they've not registered it with us, and it's important that Father and I know where our citizens are. If someone's living there without permission, they could have magic and be hiding out, so we'll have to watch our step. Magic is dangerous, Merlin."

Merlin nodded slowly and swallowed heavily. It was his destiny to use his magic to protect Arthur and help turn him into the great king that would unite Albion and bring magic back to the kingdom. Sometimes, though, Merlin found himself wondering if that day would ever come. Some days, Arthur would be open and seem to realize that there was more to magic than what it seemed, what his father believed about it. Other days, like today, he would be firmly convinced that all magic was evil. Merlin knew different, however, because he had magic, and he wasn't evil. He just wished Arthur could see that.

Realizing that in his musings he had fallen behind, he saw that Arthur was walking briskly in the direction that Merlin had told him the house was in. The tall, thin young man hastened to catch up with his master, tripping over his feet spectacularly right as he caught up to him in the brush near the house. Arthur rounded on Merlin. "I said,  _watch your step, Mer_ lin!" he whispered as Merlin struggled to his feet and dusted dirt and grime off of his blue shirt and black breeches.

The house was small and old – more of a large shack, really. They had been hunting in this area many times before and neither Merlin nor Arthur had ever seen it. That meant, despite its old appearance, it had to have been built fairly recently. Arthur made a series of ridiculous looking hand motions and Merlin nodded in agreement without having any idea of what he was supposed to be doing. When Arthur moved, he moved right along with him. He needed to be in a position where he could help Arthur if he needed it.

Arthur didn't protest to Merlin following him, so either Merlin had somehow correctly interpreted the hand signals or Arthur had resigned himself to the fact that Merlin was going to do what he wanted despite what his master told him. They rounded the front of the shack, taking in the worn, weather beaten outer walls and the flimsy door hanging haphazardly from rusty hinges.

Someone was obviously living in the house. The remnants of smoke curled slowly out of the makeshift chimney. The tell-tale wisps of smoke would have been impossible to see from a distance, but now that they were standing right next to the home, both Arthur and Merlin could see the light gray swirls against the white and blue splotched sky peeping from above the tree branches.

Arthur made some more complicated hand signals, which Merlin promptly ignored, and the two of them crept closer to the strange house. When they approached the door, Arthur's eyes went wide as he saw a small but obviously enchanted glass artifact hanging from the doorway. It was glowing a faint – almost undetectable – green and was shaped like a rabbit's foot, only it was made of fragile glass. Merlin found himself transfixed with the glass foot, his magic wanting to get closer to the source of the strange enchantment. It felt as if the source of the magic was the earth itself.

Without realizing what he was doing, Merlin slowly moved closer to the charm – because that was obviously what it was, a charm for luck, safety, health, or prosperity. He heard Arthur hissing at him to come back and he shook his head, clearing his senses. Feeling foolish, he turned to head back to Arthur.

He let out a surprised yelp as his eyes rested upon a wrinkled, hunched old woman wearing a tattered green shift, her dark skin leathery and loose. Her eyes were sunken into her old face, but Merlin could see just a glimmer of violet from the dark sockets. Stumbling back in surprise, the back of Merlin's foot hit a tree stump and he fell, barreling backwards and headfirst into the door of the hut. His collision with the surprisingly firm door caused the frame to shake, and before he could stop it, the charm hanging from the door fell to the ground, shattering into hundreds of tiny pieces.

Behind Arthur's back as the young prince unsheathed his sword and began to turn to whatever had affected his servant, the old woman's face turned into a mask of rage as those violet eyes landed on the servant sprawled under her door, the charm no longer glowing and lying at his feet in shards.

Her voice was low and crackled with every word. "You!" Arthur, thinking she was talking to him, faced her, surprised to see an old, hunchbacked woman with purple eyes glaring past him at his servant. Her gaze deadly, the woman pointed a gnarled, bumpy old finger at Merlin and snarled, "You will pay for that!" The power in her words and voice made a tingle of apprehension slide down both men's backs.

There was no doubt that the woman meant every word she said.


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin and Arthur stared at the mystical eyed old woman, whose gnarled, leathery finger was still outstretched accusingly in Merlin's direction. Slowly, still glaring at the servant with violet eyes brimming with rage, she lowered her arm. Her old, thin lips were pressed together firmly, as if barely controlling her rage.

Arthur, having witnessed enough, and – although he would never admit it – was unnerved at the predatory, vengeful look in the woman's eyes as she glared at Merlin. However she planned on making him pay for breaking her magic bauble, it couldn't be good. The prince stepped forward, glaring at the lady who was threatening Merlin. "Stop, sorceress," he said in a deadly calm voice. "No one has gotten hurt yet. Surrender now and I can promise you a fair trial in Camelot."

The woman laughed humorlessly, still not taking her eyes off Merlin, who was still sprawled against the door, the myriad of fragments from the glass rabbit's foot scattered around him. His eyes were wide as he took in the situation and Arthur assumed that the half-wit was terrified out of his mind. Useless in a tense situation, as usual, the idiot.

In actuality, Merlin was taking in the situation, trying to gauge whether the old woman was simply angry and not going to do anything or if she was really a threat. The warlock was confused because although he could feel a strong power coming from the frail elderly lady fuming at him, it was like no magic he had ever encountered, subtle yet strong, natural, almost earth-like, like that of the rabbit's foot he had broken. She was powerful, there was no doubt about it, but it almost seemed like her source of magic wasn't coming from within her but from external source.

He was brought out of his musings when the woman spoke. "Do not try to tease me, young prince – a fair trial in Camelot where magic is involved? But no matter – I have no quarrel with you or your father, boy, at least not one that would insist I see you dead." She was still looking at Merlin. "But you, boy – that was a powerful, rare charm that you broke. Protection from the Earth herself for her beloved children. "

Merlin winced. "I'm sorry," he said, and he really meant it. He hesitated. "What are you going to do to me?" he questioned almost hesitantly.

"Nothing!" Arthur snapped defensively before the woman could respond. "She's going to surrender and come back to Camelot with us and answer for her crimes."

"The only crime that has been committed today has been the destruction of the most sacred of my Mother's purest magic. But you are right, prince. I will do nothing to the oaf who has destroyed one of the Earth's most precious gifts." Merlin flinched, guilt welling up within him. He had felt the magic of the charm – pure, mystical, and utterly unique, something that had to be one of a kind. A ward of the greatest protection against destruction, death, and bad luck. And  _he_ had destroyed it. Still, he didn't want to be punished for an accident, no matter how devastating the accident might have been. Judging by the way the woman's violet eyes flashed as they bored into his own azure depths, never blinking, never wavering in their anger, he knew that the worst was yet to come.

"What do you mean?" Arthur demanded, his sword still outstretched in the direction of the threat. He was feeling supremely unnerved by the presence of this strange, powerful old woman. "You just said that he was going to pay for  _accidentally_  breaking your precious piece of banned magic."

"I do not have to punish him. With the protection of the charm also comes a terrible curse. When intact, the magic living and thriving inside its vessel, the ward will encompass its master in a cocoon of safety, warmth, and good fortune. But if broken, the one who destroys the purity of Earth's magic will be cursed with terrible misfortune for the rest of their days."

Merlin gulped and snapped his head around when Arthur burst into laughter. "Bad luck?" he snorted. "All that – the buildup, the suspense, the threats – was leading up to your declaration that because Merlin broke your little artifact, he's going to have bad luck for the rest of his life?"

Merlin glared at his master. "Arthur, I don't think that's anything to laugh about…"

Arthur cleared his throat, still obviously trying to contain his giggles at idea of Merlin's punishment being bad luck. He was pretty sure Merlin had been cursed with rotten luck the day he had been born. "Perhaps not. This woman was still in possession of an item of magic, along with evading the census and living here in the forest with no records of her residence here. She is under arrest."

The prince had been looking at Merlin when he spoke to the secret sorcerer still lying against the door of the woman's home and when he turned back to the witch in question, his mouth dropped open. He had looked away for just a few short moments, but the sorceress was gone. Vanished. There had been no sound, no indication that she had gone anywhere. It was as if she had simply melted into thin air, which, Merlin thought ruefully, had probably been what had happened. He knew that to simply fade away required massive amounts of power – but then again, this witch's power had been different from any he had ever encountered before. He definitely wouldn't put it past her.

Arthur gaped, "She's  _gone!_ "

Merlin smirked, pushing himself up from the ground and brushing off his clothes. "Very  _good_ Arthur," he joked patronizingly, "perhaps your powers of observation aren't as hopeless as I thought." What Arthur  _didn't_ know about was the little dig Merlin had made to the fact that despite how many times Merlin had been accused of being a sorcerer or no matter how often Arthur just managed to get out of a scrape with branches falling on foes or spears flying out of nowhere, he  _still_  remained ludicrously oblivious to the truth about his servant.

Arthur made a face. "Shut up, Merlin."

Merlin shrugged, took a step, and tripped over the exact same root that had caused him so much trouble in the first place. Letting out a startled cry – why he felt the need to yelp every time he tripped, Arthur couldn't figure out, because it happened so often, it shouldn't be that much of a surprise anymore – he plummeted forward and landed with a muffled thump on his front. It just so happened that there was a particularly stinky mud puddle right where Merlin's face was.

Merlin lifted his head up, disgusting brown goo dripping from his bangs and nose and chin. He spluttered, spitting mud out of his mouth, grimacing all the while. Arthur busted out in great peals of laughter as Merlin slowly rose to his feet. "You really are completely hopeless, aren't you, _Mer_ lin?"

Merlin grumbled something under his breath. He took a step forward – watching carefully where he was stepping this time – and whispered conspiratorially to the prince. "Don't you see – that wasn't my fault! It's the curse!" His eyes darted around the woods surrounding them as if he suspected the crazy old bat to hobble out of the trees again.

Arthur snorted. "Please,  _Mer_ lin, don't tell me you really  _believe_  that rubbish. She obviously didn't have any magic, even if she did possess a magical artifact, or she would have put some sort of _real_  curse on you."

Merlin shook his head, dislodging clops of dirt from his face as he did so, splashing mud all over the place – including on the front of Arthur's just-polished chainmail. Arthur shot his servant an irritated look. "You'll be cleaning that as soon as we get back, Merlin." Before Merlin could protest, the prince continued. "Besides, she didn't do any magic. She just said that silly little good luck charm would give you bad luck if you broke it. It's just a way to get superstitious people to get paranoid over nothing."

Merlin frowned. "I don't think so, Arthur. And I think she  _did_  have magic." He wished he could tell Arthur how powerful the woman really was, but Arthur would demand to know  _how_  he knew and that wouldn't bode well for the warlock.

Arthur scoffed, "And what,  _Mer_ lin, do you know about  _magic_?"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying, I don't think she was bluffing. I'm cursed," he moaned in despair.

Arthur shook his head condescendingly. "Stop trying to blame your natural clumsiness on superstition, Merlin, and pick up everything you dropped when you tripped and started all this in the first place. Just because you're a klutz doesn't mean that I should be hampered in feeding my people."

As they trudged out of the forest, keeping an eye out for any stealthy old ladies while they were at it, Merlin thought about reminding Arthur that one rabbit wasn't going to feed one person adequately, let alone the whole blasted kingdom. He saw the aggravated expression on his master's face, however, as the prince mused about what had happened, and kept his mouth shut. Sometimes it was best to leave Prince Arthur with his thoughts so as not to get smacked upside the heads or thrown in the stocks.

Besides, Merlin had more than enough on his mind anyway. Arthur may think he was being silly or superstitious, but Merlin had felt the sheer power emanating from the charm. If what the lady had said was true, then Merlin's luck was only going to take a turn for the worse. And the way his luck was already, he wasn't sure how long he could survive this new twist.

His musings were reinforced just moments later when, distracted, he tripped over his own feet while walking along a shallow ravine. He let out a breathless "oomph" as he fell over the lip of the ravine and rolled ungracefully down the incline, bashing his head on a blunt boulder protruding from the earth and lodging himself in a thicket with thorns almost as long as his thumb. He felt sharp shooting pinpricks of pain all over his battered body as thorns dug into his skin, snagging his clothes. It was then that he realized he had a deep pain reaching around the back of his head and that is vision was going blurry from the blow to his head.

The last thing he heard before giving into the gray mist surrounding him was Arthur shouting his name…


	3. Chapter 3

It could have only been a few seconds after blacking out that Merlin woke up. He knew this because Arthur was just now scrambling over the lip of the ravine and making his way through the brush to Merlin's side. Despite having regained consciousness, he had no desire to move. For one, pain was radiating all over his body – his head was pounding and his eyes blurry and he was covered in cuts and bruises where he had fallen down the slope, not to mention the multiple lacerations from the inch-long thorns… which brought him to the second reason he was disinclined to move. He was immersed in a thicket with dagger-sharp thorns piercing into his skin from all directions and he really didn't want to make it worse.

It only took a few more minutes for Arthur to make his way to the thicket in which Merlin was trapped. His eyes were wide and Merlin could tell he was doing his best not to appear worried. _Prat_ , he mentally chided. "Merlin?"

Merlin shifted and then grimaced as the thorns dug deeper into his flesh. The warlock stared up at Arthur and moaned pathetically, "I told you the curse was real."

Arthur snorted. "Idiot. There is no curse. You're just ridiculously clumsy."

Merlin grunted but was in no position to argue with the prince. He was the one stuck in the thicket; Arthur could just walk off and leave him for a few hours if so inclined. Arthur crouched down beside him, just behind his head so that he was peering straight down at Merlin, who was a bit surprised to see genuine concern in the prince's eyes. "Are you alright, Merlin?" His voice was partially haughty, trying unsuccessfully to disguise the underlying tones of worry as nonchalance.

Merlin winced. "Just peachy," he grumbled and then gasped in pain as he once again tried to wriggle himself free of the brambles. His voice, for the first time since he had fallen, was not sarcastic or joking – it was scared. "I can't get out." He knew that if Arthur wasn't here he could cut through the prickly vines he had oh-so-ungracefully landed in with his magic in a matter of seconds. As it was, though, Merlin was once again forced to play the part of the "damsel in distress" and wait for someone else to help him.

Arthur reached out and hesitantly put a comforting hand on his servant's shoulder. "Well stop moving, idiot," he scolded. He drew his dagger and surveyed the thicket like it was an enemy army, looking for weaknesses to use for his advantage. After pondering the situation carefully for all of one minute, the crown prince of Camelot began his plan of attack, which was purely hacking away at the thorns and vines. After about five minutes of this, he had managed to pry Merlin out of the bush's painful grasp and haul him a few feet away where Merlin promptly collapsed in a heap, bloody and bruised, but otherwise in good health.

* * *

Merlin limped alongside Arthur as the two made their way out of the forest and back to Camelot. The thicket had done its job well. His clothes were torn and he was covered in a multitude of shallow, small, but surprisingly painful cuts, not to mention his head was pounding relentlessly in his skull due to its brutal contact with that stone. As far as Arthur could tell – because Arthur had _forced_  Merlin to stay still and let him poke and prod the back of his servant's head, checking for damage – his head wasn't bleeding but he did have a rather nasty knot on the back of his head.

All Merlin wanted now was to get back to Camelot, get cleaned up, and go to sleep. Arthur had slowed his pace considerably when he saw that Merlin was lagging behind, limping and a tad light-headed. Merlin gave his master a small smile to indicate that he appreciated the gesture but otherwise didn't speak. He was just too tired to strike up a conversation.

They reached the edge of the woods when it seemed that Arthur, who normally complained about Merlin's lack of ability to shut up, couldn't take the silence anymore, spoke up. "I'll have to tell Father about the old woman," he remarked.

Merlin shot him a sideways glance. "Why?" he asked, genuinely interested. "After all,  _you_ obviously don't believe she has magic, otherwise you'd be a little more concerned about my curse!"

Arthur rolled his eyes dramatically. "How many times do I have to tell you,  _Mer_ lin? There. Is. No. Curse. If she had really cursed you, there would have been some elaborate hand motions and some weird hocus pocus. All she did was say, 'You're cursed.' She was just trying to scare you and obviously," he smirked, "it worked."

Merlin huffed and staggered (for the fifth or sixth time) and would've wound up flat on his face if Arthur hadn't grabbed his upper arm and steadied him in the nick of time. Merlin nodded his thanks while scowling at the prince's lack of belief at the same time. "Clot pole," he muttered under his breath.

Arthur, who had not released Merlin's arm after catching him, ground to a halt, forcing Merlin to stop with him. He looked annoyed, amused, and flabbergasted – a combination that caused him to appear fearsome and ludicrous at the same time. " _What_  was that,  _Mer_ lin?" he asked, his hard voice lightly tinted with good humor.

Merlin grinned and tried to pull his arm away from Arthur. "Nothing," he lied, right as Arthur let go of his arm. Merlin, who had been leaning away from his master, trying to break free – Arthur's grip wasn't tight but it still hurt because of all the scrapes scattered all over the poor servant – tumbled backwards and wasn't able to regain his balance, landing on his rump in the middle of what appeared to be a pile of large animal droppings.

He gagged as the smell hit his nostrils and he bolted upright. Unfortunately, his head was still dizzy from his earlier misadventure and when he tried to rise he wound up pitching forward and falling into Arthur, who was laughing hysterically at Merlin's expense, knowing he wasn't hurt other than what little pride he had left. This wouldn't have been terrible within itself, but Merlin's hands were now smeared with a combination of mud, blood, and the most recent addition, droppings and he wound up smearing the grime all over the front of Arthur's recently shined armor. Arthur stopped laughing and shrugged Merlin off of him – surprisingly gently – and fixed the servant with a glare.

"That is  _disgusting, Mer_ lin," he announced, as if Merlin, who had personally taken a dip in the goo, didn't already know that.

Merlin tried to wipe the remaining junk off of his hands on his already filthy and torn trousers – only to make his hands even more dirty – and commented, "Think I could've figured that out for myself, funnily enough." He cast almost pleading eyes on Arthur. "Do you believe me now?"

Arthur sighed. "What I  _believe_ ,  _Mer_ lin, is that you are going to clean my armor – all of it – again until it shines."

* * *

When they arrived back in Camelot, they must have been quite the sight. There was Arthur, armor smudged with dirt, hovering somewhere in between supremely irritated and mildly concerned, the expression on his face implying only those with a death wish (like Merlin, apparently) should say or do something to make him angry. Then there was Merlin with his clothes ripped, bleeding from multiple small lacerations, covered in heaven knows what, limping, and smelling like he had just mucked out the stables and then  _bathed_  in the contents. It was common knowledge they had gone out on a hunt, yet all that was in Merlin's hands was a little mud-splattered rabbit that wasn't enough to feed one person, let alone a family.

Merlin simply trudged along behind Arthur as the prince led the way to Gaius's chambers. Arthur knew that he should go see his father and let him know that they had returned from the hunt and let him know about the strange little woman that had possessed a magic artifact and was living unaccounted for in the forest, but he didn't want to leave Merlin just yet.

Despite his irritation and exasperation at the accident-prone young man, Arthur had noticed that Merlin was swaying and limping. He  _had_  taken quite a tumble and there at first, when he had first seen the servant lurching over the side of the ravine, Arthur had been worried that Merlin was seriously injured. Arthur wanted to make sure that Merlin got to Gaius without fainting so he could get cleaned up and have his wounds treated. Although he hadn't told Merlin yet, willing to let him sweat over it for a little while for dirtying Arthur's armor, Arthur had already decided that Merlin was to have the rest of the day off. Quite frankly, he looked awful.

Merlin, at the moment, was indeed fretting about returning to work after Gaius had treated him. He knew he wasn't seriously injured but that didn't mean he wasn't hurting. And of course Gaius wouldn't let him heal the wounds with magic – even if he could, that is; he had never been particularly good at healing spells – so he'd have to recover normally. He figured that if he got cleaned up, fixed up, and rested up this evening he could return to work tomorrow morning relatively good as new. But how to approach Arthur about it?

He was torn out of his thoughts when he heard someone shout his name and he closed his eyes briefly, not really wanting anyone he knew well to see him in such a filthy state. Gwen hurried over, her eyes wide as she took in Merlin's appearance and smell, apparently, for she tried to discreetly step back and breathe solely through her mouth. "What happened to you, Merlin?" she asked, her concern both touching and embarrassing him. She saw Arthur and her face turned red as she dipped into a curtsey. "My lord," she stammered. "I-I'm sorry, I didn't see you there. I mean, obviously, I  _saw_  you, because it's hard not to." She paused and made a face. "That's… not to say that you stand out, not in a bad way. It's just I saw Merlin and he looks awful, well not awful as in—"

She flushed crimson as Arthur smiled gently and cut her off. "Guine _vere_. It's alright. I agree whole-heartedly, Merlin looks horrible – a complete wreck."

Merlin crossed his arms, wincing when the cuts rubbed against his rough shirt. "I'm right here, you know," he reminded Arthur, who simply laughed.

Gwen looked at her friend sympathetically. "Oh, Merlin," she said softly. "What happened?"

Merlin gave her a reassuring smile and then went back to his staring contest with the ground. "I'm fine," he assured her. "Just a little bruised and dirty—"

"—and stinky," Arthur cut in chipperly, stating the obvious in a much-too-pleased with himself voice.

Both Merlin and Gwen glared at him this time and he shut up, more from Gwen's disproving gaze than Merlin's annoyed glance.

Merlin continued. "I tripped over a root, fell in a mud puddle, fell down a ravine and landed in a thicket of brambles, and then fell  _again_  and landed in something unspeakably disgusting."

Gwen took a half step back at his last few words but she was still sympathetic. "You poor thing, Merlin. You do always have the worst of luck."

Seizing the opportunity, Merlin leaned forward (only to have Gwen lean back, away from the stench in response) and announced, "I've been cursed."

Gwen's eyes went wide but Arthur, who unlike the two chit-chatting servants, had things to do and places to be, had heard enough. "No, Merlin," he drawled, "you are  _not_ cursed. You are a superstitious, clumsy idiot who needs to go to Gaius and get patched up and then get some rest."

Merlin looked startled as he looked up at his master. "Get some rest? But what about my chores…?"

Arthur shrugged as he nodded at Gwen and began to stride away, Merlin trotting as best he could beside him. "You hit your head fairly hard and you're pretty banged up. I'll have another servant take care of me this evening while you get some rest." Merlin didn't know what to say; he hadn't expected Arthur to be this considerate.

Finally he decided on, "Thank you."

Arthur scoffed. "Well, I'll expect you in earlier than usual tomorrow,  _Mer_ lin, to make up for lost time. I'm sure there will be  _plenty_  of chores waiting on you when you get back to work…"

As master and servant walked side by side through the lower town and toward the castle, Arthur didn't notice the smile and admiring glance a certain dark-skinned, curly-haired serving girl was sending his way. Gwen smiled at the prince's obvious care for his servant – his friend, really. Despite what she had thought a year ago, she now knew that as long as Arthur had Merlin beside him to keep him in check, Arthur would become a great king.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur stayed with Merlin during the painful trek to Gaius, taking care to steady his servant whenever his body had the inclination to sway or his face decided that it  _really_  wanted to meet the ground. When they arrived at the physician's quarters, Arthur gave Merlin his signature "You're an idiot,  _Mer_ lin" look and warned him that he had better be on time tomorrow morning or there'd be hell to pay. Merlin took this as Arthur's way of saying, "Feel better," and pretended he cared about the order before thanking Arthur for his help and stumbling inside to an alarmed Gaius.

"Merlin!" Gaius exclaimed, hurrying over to help the young warlock to the patient bed where he sat down gratefully, his various puncture wounds from that blasted thorn bush screaming at him. "What on  _earth_  happened to you?" He backed away after getting a good whiff of his ward's ghastly stench. "And why do you smell like the back end of a horse?"

Merlin leaned forward and Gaius rubbed his watering eyes and taken a few steps back – Merlin positively reeked. "Gaius – I'm cursed!"

Gaius gave him  _his_  signature "Merlin, what am I going to do with you?" look and Merlin took that as a cue to start talking. He told Gaius everything, from seeing the old house in the forest to the glowing glass rabbit's foot and the strange woman who had told him he was cursed for breaking it. He debated about mentioning the weird vibe he had gotten from the old crone's magic but ultimately decided that Gaius should know. Merlin certainly didn't understand the strange power she had given off so maybe Gaius would.

When he finished, Gaius – who had somehow managed to get all the way across the room, nose wrinkled, in a futile attempt to escape the overpowering stink radiating from Merlin –repeated, "You say her magic was earth-like, natural?"

Merlin shrugged, wincing as he did so. "I don't know Gaius – but I'm not crazy! I sensed _something_. Her magic was… different. Ancient. But not negative. Almost… neutral." He winced. "I'm sorry, Gaius, that's about all I can tell you."

Gaius bravely attempted to come forward despite the smell of mud and dung to pat Merlin on the shoulder but gave up when he saw there was no  _clean_  spot to pat. "It's alright, Merlin. We need to get you cleaned up so I can take a look at your wounds."

Merlin locked gazes with his guardian, eyes pleading and desperate. "You  _do_  believe me, don't you, Gaius? It's  _not_  just my imagination. I'm  _not_ a superstitious fool. I know magic when I sense it, whether or not I understand it."

Gaius shushed Merlin. "Of course I believe you, Merlin," the old man chided. "But I admit I am at a loss to what kind of magic could have caused this or how to combat it. We will have to do research." He ignored Merlin's groan and continued authoritatively, "In the meantime, I suggest that you watch your step and be  _very_  careful. Do  _not_  take any unnecessary chances and don't go wandering off on your own. You were lucky to have Arthur with you today, otherwise you'd be in a lot worse shape."

Merlin made a face. "Oh yes, Arthur was  _so_  helpful, taking every opportunity to tell me that it's all in my head, that I'm a clumsy idiot anyway, and that I'm superstitious and know  _nothing_  about magic." He huffed. "I'm  _so_  tired of hiding everything from him, Gaius. I do everything for Arthur and he doesn't even realize it. He just thinks I'm an idiot."

Gaius sighed. "I know, my boy. Someday the time will come for Arthur to learn of everything you do for him and Camelot. But in the meantime, you  _must_  get cleaned off and I fear that no amount of scrubbing is going to get you cleaned up or remove that ghastly  _smell_  from my chambers. I know that I normally advise against using magic for everyday things like cleaning up, Merlin, but I fear that desperate times call for desperate measures."

Merlin grinned. "Gaius… are you actually asking me to do magic to clean up?"

Gaius folded his arms across his front. "Just get this smell  _out_  of my chambers, Merlin.  _Now._ "

Merlin nodded and thought for a moment before saying, " _Drewdod a baw ffoi_." As if someone was siphoning away the dirt, mud, and grime, Merlin's clothes and skin were suddenly void of all muck and the smell vanished. Merlin grinned at Gaius who sighed in relief before hurrying to Merlin's side. "Thank goodness for small miracles," the old man breathed before making Merlin remove his shirt and forcing him to stay still while he was examined.

After looking over the young warlock thouroughly, Gaius announced that Merlin had a light concussion from bashing his head against the rock. He wouldn't let Merlin heal the cuts with magic because Arthur had been there when Merlin had gotten hurt and had bodily pulled his servant out of the briars and would be very suspicious if there were no trace of scratchmarks the next day.

The physician also refused to let Merlin attempt to heal the various bruises of different sizes, shapes, and colors that littered his skin from his many unlucky escapades. He did, however, give him a tonic to help with the pain (which took all of Merlin's willpower  _not_  to spit back out again, it was so vile) and sent him off to bed.

* * *

Merlin woke up the next morning feeling marginally better than he had the day before. His head was still aching and his body sore and bruised and he still felt a dark cloud of foreboding hanging over him, but his spirits had brightened somewhat and a good night's sleep had done wonders for his injuries. He mused that Gaius must have slipped him a sleeping draft at one point because Merlin hadn't slept this well in a long time.

With a yawn, he got out of bed, bare feet slapping the floor as he did so, and rummaged around in his small cupboard for something to wear. He pulled out a shirt and groaned.  _No. NO! This could NOT be happening!_  The other clothes he had worn yesterday had been so ripped that Merlin had had to throw them out, and today's attire fared no better. His clothes were covered in little bite-sized holes, frayed and ultimately destroyed. From somewhere in the back of his cupboard he heard a little  _squeak_  and fought the urge to make Arthur some more rat stew. Instead he slammed the door shut and stomped out of his room, missing the top step and pitching forward onto his face at a startled Gaius's feet.

One white eyebrow flew up as the old man observed his ward who was pushing himself off the ground with a grimace. "Merlin! What are you doing still in your nightclothes? You're going to be late attending to Arthur."

Merlin scrambled to his feet and replied, "Mice."

Gaius's eyebrow reached new heights. "Excuse me?"

"My clothes are ruined!" Merlin moaned. "Apparently while I was sleeping a very hungry little vermin decided that my shirts and pants looked like a tasty treat and chewed holes all in them! And I don't know how to fix them – I don't know any sewing spells! Why would I, when one of my best friends is one of the best seamstresses in Camelot?" He said all this very fast and apparently Gaius had to blink a few times before he was able to comprehend it.

"A mouse?" Gaius repeated.

Merlin nodded, seething. "I'm telling you, Gaius, it's this curse! My clothes are ruined," he moaned a big melodramatically.

Gaius shook his head. "Well, there's nothing you can do now, Merlin, except hope that Guinevere will have the time and will be able to fix your garments. In the meantime, you still have to attend to Arthur and do your job and I do  _not_ suggest wearing your nightclothes.

"Then what am I going to do, go naked?" Merlin grumbled sarcastically. "I'm sure Arthur would _love_  that."

Gaius whacked Merlin gently on the back of the head and Merlin gasped. "OW!" he exclaimed petulantly. "I thought I had a concussion!"

"You slept it off," Gaius retorted sassily before shuffling over to his own meager wardrobe. "I suppose you'll just have to borrow something of mine to wear today until you can get your clothes to Guinevere…"

Merlin's eyes widened in horror. "Er… it's okay, Gaius. Really, I'm good. I'll… wear my pajamas. Or… better yet, call in sick, yeah, that's it. I'll tell Arthur I'm still suffering from the ill effects of yesterday and—"

Gaius cut him off, holding up an old and quite faded robe that the physician no longer wore anymore for obvious reasons. It had once been bright red but the color had faded to more of a light pink and had a baby blue sash round the middle a rusted bronze circle keeping it latched. It was quite hideous and Merlin had a feeling that even Gaius wouldn't be caught dead in it. "Merlin. You have to go to work. Remember what I said yesterday? Desperate times call for desperate measures."

Merlin groaned loudly and took the robes from Gaius and trudged back up to his room. He pulled the too-large fabric over his head and the hem hung just above his ankles since he was taller than Gaius. He didn't even  _want_  to know what it looked like considering Gaius was wider and shorter than him. He might as well be wearing a (big and ugly) dress! For what seemed to be the billionth time, he wished that he had never told Arthur about that stupid house. He sighed and left his room, ignoring Gaius's consolences for his bad luck and the poorly concealed chortles.

 _Gee, thanks for the support, Gaius,_  he mentally griped as he stalked out of the physican's chambers and into one of the most unlucky days of his life.

* * *

Merlin tried to ignore all of the amused stares he was getting from nearly everyone he passed on the way to the prince's chambers. He kept his head down and focused on  _not_  tripping and sprawling flat on his face. He looked stupid enough as it was; he really didn't need to face plant in the middle of the corridor.

He was almost at Arthur's rooms when he ran headlong into someone he hadn't seen because he had been watching his feet. The person he had run into was solid and Merlin found himself falling backwards onto his rump. He looked at his eye level and saw a pair of fancy boots. He looked up… and up… and up… and gulped. There, staring irritably down at him, the Lady Morgana at his side, was King Uther.

And he did  _not_  look amused.

 


	5. Chapter 5

Merlin gulped as King Uther glared down at him, his face set in stone and eyes displaying a massive amount of exasperation. Morgana, on the other hand, looked both sympathetic  _and_ slightly unnerved. "Merlin?" she asked hesitantly, her red lips quirked into a slight smile. Her raven hair was cascading brilliantly down her back, contrasting marvelously to the cream-colored dress that hugged her body closely, accentuating her figure. Her stormy blue-green eyes were amused and mildly concerned. Merlin felt his face flush as she looked down on him.

Uther spoke and his voice was annoyed and resigned – probably to the realization that the servant he had named for his son nearly a year ago was, and would always be, a world-class idiot. "Get up," he drawled and Merlin scurried to his feet, stumbling over the hem of that  _awful_ robe and nearly catapulting himself into Uther once more. Thankfully he managed to pull himself to his feet, wincing slightly as his head continued to pound. He may have slept off the slight concussion but the aftereffects of bashing his head on that rock were still there – and the stress of running into Uther was not helping one bit!

"Sire," he mumbled, tilting his head forward. He glanced up at Morgana and their eyes met , hers amused and a bit worried. "M-my lady." He knew his face was probably a bright shade of pink – maybe even red. Could his luck get  _any_  worse? "I-I'm sorry for running into you, Sire," Merlin apologized hastily. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

Uther snorted slightly, sounding marginally amused and Merlin felt his stomach unclench slightly. Maybe Uther wouldn't be as angry as the cursed warlock had previously thought. Perhaps for once his reputation as an idiot would get him off the hook. Uther wasn't ready to let the subject drop just yet, however. "Well,  _that_  is obvious," he scoffed. His eyes ran up and down Merlin's pink-robed body and Merlin felt his ears burn in embarrassment as Morgana subtly did the same. Uther started to walk away, past Merlin, and he breathed a sigh of relief and began to continue toward Arthur's chambers.

After only taking a few steps, however, Uther turned around and asked, " _What_  are you wearing?"

Morgana, who had hesitated to follow when Uther had moved to leave, looking like she wanted to find out for herself why Merlin was wearing something so hideous or perhaps why he had a deep purple bruise creeping out from under his hair near the nape of his neck, also looked at him curiously. Merlin turned slowly and kept his eyes glued to the floor, too humiliated to meet either of their eyes. "I… er… mice," he tried to explain, "…ate through my clothes. Gaius, he, eh, let me wear one of his…" he grimaced, "…robes."

Merlin could feel Uther's eyes on him after he finished stuttering out his explanation and wanted to sink into the floor.  _This_ had to be the most embarrassing thing that had ever befallen him – he should have just pretended to be sick today. After all, his head was hurting to the extent that it wouldn't be much of a stretch to say he was too ill to work.

Honestly, though, what were the odds that Merlin, who rarely ran into the king in the many halls of the massive castle, would literally slam into him when he was wearing one of the ugliest, dress-like garments in the whole kingdom? The odds were extremely small, that was what they were – and Merlin knew without a doubt that this was the curse bestowing even more ridiculous amounts of foul luck on him.

Uther let out a short bark of a laugh at Merlin's expense and Morgana smiled in sympathy. "My maidservant, Gwen, is an excellent seamstress," she informed Merlin formally, probably for the sake of Uther, since obviously Merlin and Gwen were good friends and he already knew that. "I will speak to her for you, ask her to mend your clothes."

Uther sent his ward a loving glance. "You really are a very thoughtful young lady, Morgana," he praised her. He rolled his eyes in Merlin's direction. "Get your clothing fixed as soon as possible, Marvin, it really is quite embarrassing to have you walking around my kingdom looking like a cross-dresser with  _extremely_ bad taste."

Morgana shot a disapproving glare at Uther because of his callous choice of words but the king did not notice because he was looking at the humiliated servant thoughtfully. Merlin (not really surprised that the king hadn't remembered his name even though Morgana had said it only moments before), on his part, was hoping with all his heart that Uther would get bored of him and go away so that Merlin could wake up Arthur and get on with his day. Of course Arthur would tease him relentlessly but Merlin could call him a clot pole for his troubles. The warlock couldn't exactly say that to the king.

"Where's Arthur?"

Merlin blinked in surprise. It was fairly early in the morning; it should have been obvious that he had been on his way to wake the prince. "I… was just on my way to wake and attend to him, my lord."

Uther's slightly bemused expression was replaced by one of mild anger and Merlin instinctively stepped back a step, wondering why the king was looking so annoyed all of a sudden. Whatever the reason for his reaction, Merlin had a feeling that it would not bode well for him. "We are supposed to be meeting in five minutes. You were supposed to have done your job  _earlier_  today. This inefficiency will not be tolerated – you are my son's servant and you will do your job  _right_ ," Uther said rather harshly.

Merlin felt his stomach drop to his feet. Arthur was supposed to have met with the king earlier than usual? He hadn't heard anything about it – he had been given the evening off yesterday. There was no way he could have known. Uther was glaring at him and Morgana's eyes were darting back and forth between Merlin and the king. "I-I didn't know, my lord," Merlin stammered.

Uther sighed, shaking his head slightly. " _You_ have a highly desired position. There are many _competent_  people that would be  _honored_  to be the Crown Prince's servant, and  _you_ , of all people have been gifted with the opportunity. Yet you walk around dressing like a fool and acting like an imbecile. You don't listen to clear instructions – I told Arthur about the meeting yesterday evening and he would have instructed you to wake him early today – yet you are running _extremely_  late. I don't know why my son puts up with you but he must have his reasons. As it is, if you're not going to take your job seriously, you will have to learn the hard way."

Merlin paled and Morgana quickly intervened, her voice measured and it was obvious she was trying to sound uninterested although she kept glancing at Merlin compassionately. "My lord," she objected, "it's obvious Merlin has had a difficult time of it this morning; surely this one time you can give him a bit of leeway. Perhaps Arthur forgot to tell him about the early meeting." Merlin bit his lip, waiting for the king's judgment, while simultaneously sending Morgana a slight eyebrow quirk that clearly said  _thank you_. Morgana was focused on Uther, however, and didn't seem to notice.

Uther frowned. "No, Morgana, he needs to realize that his position as the prince's sole manservant is a  _privilege_." Most of the king's irritation had faded but he still fixed the servant with a look that made Merlin want to crawl in a hole. "You are to spend the day in the stocks and you can use your time contemplating whether you really want to be my son's servant or not. Another servant will attend to Arthur today."

Morgana tried once more, "My lord –"

The king held up his hand as Merlin just stood there in Gaius's robes, head aching, and the unfairness of the situation making him want to tell the king exactly what he thought of his methods. As it was, he just stood there as Uther said firmly, "Guards!" Two of the castle guards appeared seemingly out of nowhere and latched their strong hands on to either of Merlin's arms. Merlin barely contained a hiss of pain as their hands tightened over some of the small cuts on his upper arms. "This boy has an appointment with the stocks."

The guards nodded in unison and together they wheeled Merlin none-too-gently around and marched him through the castle – still wearing the horrendous pink garment – to the stocks. Merlin felt tears of frustration prick the corners of his eyes as he was made to stoop over and his head and wrists were locked in the wooden stocks. He didn't say a word as a pair of heavy metal shackles clicked shut over his wrists and the guards walked away, their job done. Merlin could hear snickers and whispering and knew that the villagers were probably commenting on his unflattering attire.

He was exhausted, having just recovered from a concussion and still covered in bruises from getting injured almost constantly yesterday, and he was locked in the stocks in this  _awful_  dress-like robe for everyone to laugh at because a stupid mouse had decided to munch on all his other clothes. Normally Merlin didn't mind being in the stocks that much – he actually tended to make a game of trying to avoid the rotting fruit and vegetables thrown at his face – but today was an entirely different story. This was completely unfair.

Merlin was used to getting the wrong end of the stick but this was ridiculous. He had been given the day off to rest from his injuries and because of that, Arthur hadn't told him there would be an early meeting with Uther. He had run into Uther and Morgana of all people on his way to wake Arthur. He might have gotten away with not being early if he had arrived to wake Arthur first and had the prince to cover for him, but as it was he simply looked like he was being inefficient. He was sore, wronged, misjudged, and despite the happy-go-lucky façade he presented when he had been in the stocks before, when the first rotten tomato hit him in the forehead, one single tear inched its way out of his left eye.

He hoped that he and Gaius would be able to find a way to reverse the witch's curse – and soon. Otherwise, what had happened to him today would probably be desirable by the time the charm's bad luck was done with him. The prospect made him shift uncomfortably and Merlin let his head lower so he wouldn't have to see the faces of all those around him. Normally he would try to make the best of the situation, to make the audience laugh or sympathize with him with a few silly words or quirky grin, but not today.

Today his anger at his impossibly bad luck and the desperation at the realization that nothing seemed to be able to keep him out of the trouble the curse was causing were weighing him down. He only hoped that Arthur would realize something wasn't right and would try to help him out. With any luck, Arthur would explain everything to Uther and Merlin wouldn't have to spend the rest of the day in the stocks.

Then again, luck was something that he didn't have one bit of any more - unless it was the  _bad_ kind of luck, that is.

* * *

Arthur was surprised when a young servant he didn't know the name of woke him up in the morning. He yawned and fought the urge to throw something at the boy. He wasn't Merlin, after all, and was obviously just following orders by waking Arthur. There was no reason to take his reluctance to rise on this temporary replacement.

The prince frowned, a bit worried that Merlin wasn't here, actually. He assumed that his klutzy servant was still not feeling well from his misadventures the day before or that Gaius had decided that he needed more rest before he returned to work. He asked the servant where Merlin was while the young man helped him get dressed – very quiet and submissive, not interesting at all like Merlin – and he replied, "I don't know, sire, I was just told to attend to you this morning, sire. But we must hurry, sire, you're already late for the meeting with the king, sire."

At the servant's words (and, heaven help him, he was on the brink of strangling the man if he said "sire" one more time), Arthur felt a bit relieved that Merlin had apparently not come to work today. It had been late evening when Uther had informed his son that the meeting with Uther would be held earlier than usual the next morning and Arthur had, obviously, already let Merlin go for the day. He had completely forgotten to tell Merlin that he'd need to be early the next day. If Arthur had been late to the meeting because Merlin hadn't gotten him ready in time, he would have more than likely gotten into trouble with Uther, despite the circumstances.

And as much as Arthur disbelieved Merlin's claims that he was cursed, Arthur couldn't deny that his servant's luck had been particularly foul lately. He really didn't want the idiot to wind up in the stocks for something that was Arthur's fault, especially in his current condition.

After he had scarfed down a hasty breakfast and was walking through the castle toward the castle chambers, Arthur decided that he would drop in on Gaius and Merlin just to see how the clumsy fool was doing. He wasn't worried, obviously, he just needed to reassure himself that Merlin  _would_  be back at work tomorrow. Also, he had to lecture the servant for not telling Arthur beforehand that he wouldn't be at work today.

Once more Arthur told himself that at least Merlin hadn't been subject to his father's wrath at not waking Arthur up at the right time – with any luck the bootlicker that had been assigned to help Arthur today would get the brunt of Uther's annoyance – not that he disliked the fellow, but there were only so many times a person could say "sire" in a sentence before it became monotonous and wholly irritating.

By the end of the meeting with his father, Arthur was even more agitated because of some decisions his father was making in regards to taxes and he found that he was looking forward to going to the physician's chambers and taking out some of his irritation on Merlin. He entered Gaius's chambers after knocking and the old man looked surprised to see him. "Arthur? What are you doing here, sire?" Arthur gritted his teeth when Gaius addressed him as sire, but held back any reprimand – how was Gaius supposed to know that Stephen the brown-noser of a servant had managed to call him sire at  _least_  fifty-two times in the short time span of thirty minutes?

"I came to see how Merlin was doing," Arthur announced rather loudly, hoping that his voice would carry across the room and through Merlin's door to his lazy servant's ears. "And to make sure he'd be back at work tomorrow. Really, if he's too ill to come to work he needs to inform me, at least."

Gaius looked surprised and that was when the first trickle of worry began to worm its way into Arthur's gut. "Sire, Merlin left at his usual time to attend to you." Gaius's eyebrows furrowed and seemed to become on giant gray caterpillar scrunching its way across the physician's wrinkled forehead. Arthur could tell that Gaius was a bit concerned.

Arthur let the corners of his mouth turn down fractionally. Merlin had left for work today? What could have kept him? Arthur tried to shut out the images that paraded through his mind – Merlin, passed out in some secluded corridor from yesterday's injuries; Merlin, being bullied by some of Arthur's old "friends" he'd abandoned last year; Merlin, having gotten himself into some sort of impossible situation, perhaps surrounded by bandits; Merlin, deciding he didn't want to go to work and burrowing himself in some corner, trying to escape his duties…

Yes. That was it, Arthur tried to assure himself. Merlin was simply being lazy, trying to weasel out of work while also not letting Gaius in on what he was doing so as not to get lectured by the old man. Still, that didn't sound like Merlin… Arthur growled and pushed the niggling worry out of his mind and turned to Gaius. "I'll find that lazy bum," he announced and rolled his eyes. "Probably trying to get out of work again."

Gaius's eyes were slightly clouded but the physician nodded distractedly as Arthur left the room and started his search for the wayward servant.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur grew more anxious as each place in the castle he searched revealed that Merlin wasn't there, nor had he been there at any time during the day. It was now nearing noon and the sun was sweltering, even from just pouring its rays through the windows in the castle. Arthur found himself glad that he wasn't training his knights today. Normally he would have detested staying inside and finishing up reports but today it was so hot that he found he didn't mind boring work at all as long as it kept him out of the sun. This was also why he confined his search for Merlin to the castle – he knew that the lazy idiot would be inside, away from the heat.

Or so he thought.

He had just returned to his chambers after nearly an hour of searching for the wayward serving boy with no success and was trying to quell the worry that was bubbling up in his stomach. He couldn't shake the image of Merlin tumbling down the ravine and into the thorns, cuts, scrapes and bruises marring his body. Nor could he rid himself of the fear in Merlin's eyes and voice when he tried to convince his master that he was a cursed man.

Not that Arthur believed the old lady had cursed Merlin, of course, but Arthur knew that anyone – especially superstitious people – could be fooled by their subconscious into thinking things like bad luck and curses were true. The mind was a powerful thing and if Merlin seriously believed that he was cursed, he could be more susceptible to harm because he  _believed_  that he was.

As he was musing this, the doors to his chambers swung open and an enraged Morgana strode in, eyes livid and fiery, long hair bunched up intricately at the base of her neck in an attempt to keep cool in the suffocating heat. Slightly miffed by Morgana's obvious disregard for his privacy but used to her dramatic intrusions all the same, Arthur sighed and sat down the cup that he had just taken a swig of water from and turned to the girl that was like his sister. "Ah. Morgana. Don't you ever knock; you're starting to become as bad as Merlin."

At the sound of the servant's name, Morgana's eyes seemed to spit fire and Arthur wondered if Merlin had done something to upset Morgana although he really couldn't fathom what that would be. The two of them had always seemed to have gotten along rather well – perhaps  _too_  well, considering their differences in status – but something about the mention of Merlin's name got her riled up. Before Arthur could ask what was wrong, Morgana started to speak.

"Your father," she announced, "can be the most heartless, uncaring man I've ever met."

Arthur blinked, having certainly not been expecting  _this_. "The king would certainly not be pleased to hear you speak this way, Morgana."

Morgana rolled her eyes. "Like I care what pleases him, especially after what he did to Merlin."

Arthur blinked and a wave of anger bolted through him. If his father had something to do with Merlin not turning up for work this morning…

His voice a forced calm, Arthur asked Morgana slowly and clearly, " _What_  are you talking about, Morgana?"

Morgana looked into his eyes, her contempt for Uther's decision unmasked in her expression. "This morning, Merlin accidentally… ran into us – your father and I, that is. He was wearing the most  _horrible_  clothing as well, Arthur, but if you  _dare_  tease him about it, especially considering how defeated he looked when the guards dragged him away this morning –"

Arthur's mind was whirring. Guards? Gut clenched and teeth gritted, he motioned for Morgana to keep talking. "Guards?"

"Yes. It seems Merlin was on his way to wake you and he didn't remember – or didn't know – about your early meeting with the king this morning. Uther was furious and started ranting about how he never takes his job seriously and dresses like a fool – although it  _wasn't_  Merlin's fault, it was a mouse, and –"

Arthur cut her off again. He had done a fair job of keeping up with Morgana's narrative until mice had been mentioned and now he feared he was hopelessly lost again. He rubbed his temples, trying to sort through her words. Morgana only rambled like this when she was very put out so it was obvious that she greatly disapproved of Uther's actions. Arthur already knew that he did too, from what Morgana had told him  _and_  the uncomfortable, ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't quite figure out where the mouse came in. "Wait – what?"

Morgana huffed impatiently and cut to the chase – finally. "Uther was angry at Merlin for not doing his job early like he was supposed to and sentenced him to a whole day in the stocks – in this heat! I've been looking for you all day, Arthur, but I strolled through the lower town earlier, and he looks  _terrible_! It's boiling outside, Arthur, and the poor boy looks like he's going to pass out anyway – he's got cuts on his face, Arthur, and a huge bruise on the back of his head coming out from under his hair! Did you know that? Just  _what_  have you been doing to him?"

Arthur opened his mouth indignantly but Morgana wasn't finished. "And  _now_ , he's been in the stocks for  _hours_  and the heat hasn't even reached its peak yet. Uther saw his injuries and knew how hot it was but he didn't care. He had the guards drag him out and lock him in the stocks." Her voice softened. "You should have seen his face, Arthur. He looked like he was about to cry – there's more going on here than him just forgetting about his job." She looked at Arthur pointedly.

Guilt raced through his mind and heart as he realized that  _he_  had been the cause of this. Merlin had had a hard enough time as it was, spending all day yesterday falling and fainting and now his father had put his injured servant in the stocks in the intense heat? He growled irritably and groaned, "You're right – I gave him the evening off yesterday and completely forgot to tell him that I had to meet my father early this morning – it's my fault he's in this mess."

Morgana's delicate eyebrows darted up. " _You_  gave Merlin the evening off? That's not like you. Why would you do that?"

Arthur scoffed. " _You_  saw him, Morgana. As battered as he probably looks today, it was a whole lot worse – and smellier – yesterday."

Morgana frowned. "How did he get hurt?"

Arthur sighed. "He kept falling like mad yesterday," he told her, not bringing up the idea of a curse (because there  _was_  no curse!). "Even clumsier than usual." He flinched at the memory, "He tripped over the lip of a steep ravine while we were hunting and dashed his head on a rock and then landed in a thorn bush. He was banged up and Gaius told me earlier that he had a slight concussion. I let him have the evening off to recuperate."

Morgana's harsh gaze softened. "You're a good man, Arthur."

Arthur snorted and glanced away. "I just didn't want Merlin fainting all over my armor or bleeding on my laundry," he muttered half-heartedly.

Morgana smirked, obviously adept at seeing through his flimsy facades. "I'm sure." She walked forward and placed a thin, porcelain hand on his strong arm, squeezing gently. "Either way, you have more of a conscious than your father, with him putting weary and hurt servants into the stocks to be roasted by the sun when their only crime is being late for work."

Arthur closed his eyes briefly. If it had been under other circumstances – Merlin being in good health, the temperature not unbearably hot, Merlin deserving to have been put in the stocks – he probably wouldn't have cared at all. In fact, he would have laughed at Merlin. But in this case, it just made him angry. He smiled thinly at Morgana. "Thank you for letting me know." He started to walk out of his room but Morgana stopped him.

"Where are you going?"

Arthur smiled grimly. "I'm going to go check on Merlin and then I'm going to my father and telling him it was  _my_  fault Merlin was late, not mine. I'm not going to let Merlin suffer because I didn't tell him about the early meeting.

Morgana nodded, pleased, but spoke up once more before Arthur could leave the room. "And Arthur—remember what I said. Merlin's not well; don't ridicule him for his attire."

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. "Just  _what_  is he wearing that's so atrocious, Morgana?" He chuckled. "It can't be any worse than that accursed neckerchief he always wears."

Morgana winced. Arthur stared. " _That_  bad?"

Morgana nodded silently and Arthur snorted. "Sorry, Morgana," Arthur announced, grinning in spite of himself. "But I can't make any promises."

* * *

By the time Arthur made it to the lower town where the stocks were located, he was already sweating profusely – it was that hot. He yawned – this kind of weather always made him want to sleep – and looked for Merlin. Normally one would have had to search through a throng of people in the village but today the heat was keeping everyone inside. It seemed that most everyone had done their business in the market in the morning when it was marginally cooler. Only a few people were out now that it was high noon – a couple of guards were lounging in the shade as best they could. The other group of people made Arthur's blood run cold.

It was the gang he used to hang out with before he had met Merlin – sons of noblemen who thought they were better than everyone else and bullied people for the fun of it. While Arthur liked to think that he'd grown up in the year or so since he'd stop hanging out with them, it was painfully obvious that they hadn't.

There were five of them in all – two wiry but vicious brothers named John and Jacob, a couple of guys a few years younger than himself, muscled and mean called Brenton and Michael, and the meanest one of all, the boy that had taken over the group after Arthur had gotten disgusted with them, Nigel. Nigel was lean but well muscled, had a sharp tongue and a mean streak that went beyond annoying – he could be nasty. All five of them were hurling tomatoes, cabbage heads, and even potatoes with all their strength at the filthy, sunburned servant in the stocks. Merlin had his head down and looked like he was trying to ignore them but Arthur figured that he could have very well been trying to shield his face from the vegetables. He didn't seem to have the will or strength to dodge them today. Every so often a potato would hit him – hard – on the head and Arthur gritted his teeth, knowing that the boys were  _trying_  to make their hits hurt.

On top of this, they were also yelling insults and jeering at Merlin as they threw the nasty food. Nigel sneered, "Nice dress,  _servant_. Going to the ball with your beloved Prince Charming?"

Arthur frowned. They obviously hadn't noticed him approaching yet. Merlin didn't answer and a moldy apple peel landed in his hair.

Brenton snorted. "Wouldn't be surprised."

Arthur chose this moment to show himself. He stepped forward, one hand on his hip, the other touching the hilt of his sword. He knew the jerks would get the hint. He cleared his throat and six heads snapped over to stare at him. Nigel gulped and the other four bullies looked sheepish but certainly not apologetic. Merlin's eyes were hazed over and Arthur could see that the normally pasty skin on his face was red from sunburn.

"Sire, we were just…" Nigel stammered for some explanation but Arthur was having none of it.

He stepped forward and unsheathed his sword about an inch from the scabbard. "Leave.  _Now._ " His voice was hard and cold, leaving no room for argument. "If I  _ever_  catch you treating my servant this way again, there will be  _hell_  to pay." He smiled pleasantly. "Are we clear?"

Each of his former "friends" murmured their assent and mumbled an apology. Arthur noticed that Nigel shot a venomous glare Merlin's way. Arthur didn't waver until all five boys were out of sight. He then turned to Merlin, who was doing his best to stand straight and not look like he was disheartened and in pain. Arthur felt his gut twist in sympathy – he barely even noticed the horrible pink robe and even if he had, now wasn't the time to be making fun of Merlin – and he knew that he couldn't leave Merlin out here all day. He opened his mouth to reassure Merlin but was afraid of how his voice would sound now that those idiots had fled and he was faced with the unfairness of Merlin's predicament.

Agitated at himself, at those bullies, and at Merlin for being a clumsy oaf in the first place, Arthur snapped his mouth shut and turned on his heel, marching off to find his father and leaving a  _very_ bewildered and slightly hurt Merlin in his wake.


	7. Chapter 7

Merlin didn't know what was going on with Arthur.

It had been a  _terrible_  morning. When the guards had dragged him to the lower town and clasped him in the stocks, it was already terribly hot and all Merlin could do was hope that it didn't get any hotter. Of course, as it was, he was cursed with terrible, awful, rotten luck and so he wasn't really surprised when the weather did become positively sweltering. It had become  _so_  hot, in fact, that nearly everyone had fled from the rays of the sun – some of them casting sympathetic looks in the direction of the pink-clad servant stuck in the stocks, boiling under the sun, but most not even taking the time or energy to glance his way. He actually preferred it that way, though – he  _hated_  people feeling sorry for him and he certainly didn't want people gawking at him and his clothing any more than they already had; it was  _humiliating_. He had thought that it couldn't get any worse.

Word to the wise: Never tempt Fate, especially when you've been cursed by ancient magic, because Fate just  _lives_  to prove you wrong.

Merlin had discovered pretty early on into his time in the stocks that if he kept his head lowered, eyes to the ground, the sun didn't catch his face nearly as much although he could feel his scalp beginning to burn. He was furious, embarrassed, indignant, and  _hot_  in the ugly cotton robe (although surprisingly, it did keep his back and arms from getting burnt). His only mercy was that everyone had retreated indoors where they at least had shelter from the heat. Or rather, _almost_  everyone.

He heard their jeering voices before they even strutted into his line of sight – loud, obnoxious, and cruel. He recognized them from various times he had encountered them over the year – most of the time, making fun of him – but mostly from the day that he had met Arthur. They were the gang that Arthur used to pal around with, bullying people just to make them like him. Merlin was grateful that Arthur was far above that now – mostly due to Merlin's influence on his life – but it had only served to make them hate Merlin that much more. It seems they had made the connection between Merlin and Arthur's  _bond_ , or whatever the heck it was, and blamed Merlin solely for their "friend" – more their ticket to wealth and power than anything – ditching them, despite the fact that Arthur had done quite a bit of growing up on his own. Merlin's influence had only jumpstarted the process.

He had been threatened by the gang a lot, and they made fun of him every chance they got, but that was about all that they  _could_  do, considering Merlin was Arthur's servant and the two were almost always together. Merlin had taken to ignoring their jibes, although they never did anything when Arthur was around. This time, however, Arthur had been nowhere in sight – more than likely at that bloody meeting with his father – and Merlin had been alone and helpless. The boys had taken advantage of the situation and had taken it upon themselves to hurl as many potatoes and smelly fruits and vegetables at the servant as humanly possible – as hard as they could – all the while taunting and teasing him.

They weren't hurting Merlin's feelings – he was  _way_  beyond that, he knew they were just pathetic jerks with no other recourse to make themselves feel better about their pathetic lives than to take it out on other people. He was, however, getting  _very_  annoyed. He had had the worst few days of his life and it only kept getting worse. He was this close to conjuring some random gust of wind to blow these guys right out of the lower town, but someone might get suspicious and Gaius would get angry at Merlin using his powers in such a way – although at this rate, Merlin would feel  _no_ guilt for giving the bullies a bit of a scare. They certainly deserved it.

And then Arthur had showed up, gripping the hilt of his sword and glaring at the buffoons like they were nothing more than the dust beneath his leather boots. Merlin had felt an odd mixture of relief, humiliation, and annoyance – relieved because Arthur would surely tell the thugs to back off and hopefully  _do_  something about Merlin's unjust situation; humiliated because Arthur was seeing him like this and knowing that once the drama was over he would certainly tease his servant relentlessly about this until kingdom come; and annoyed because once again he was forced to adopt the role as the 'damsel in distress,' letting Arthur come to his rescue when he was really more powerful than Arthur could imagine. Still, he was grateful to Arthur for having reached the point to where he would stand up for someone as lowly as a servant.

This was why he was both confused and hurt when Arthur looked at Merlin for a few seconds after the idiot bullies had fled and then abruptly turned on his heel, striding away. Merlin had no idea what Arthur was doing – if anything – and he had at least expected his master to say _something,_ at the very least making fun of his hideous costume. But Arthur had simply turned and left, leaving Merlin wondering what was going on in that prattish mind of his and if he was, indeed, destined to remain out in the hot sun for the rest of the day.

* * *

Arthur was annoyed at just about everyone right now. He was furious at Nigel and his cronies for taking it upon themselves to make Merlin's life miserable – that was  _his_  job. He was irritated at his father for so callously condemning Merlin for something so small without even consulting Arthur about it – Uther may have been his father and the king of Camelot, but Arthur was the prince and Merlin's master, and therefore, punishment of his servants should be discussed with him  _before_  they were carried out. He was also growing increasingly enraged at himself for caring enough to want to  _do_  something about Merlin's predicament. He shouldn't care. He  _didn't_  care. He was just making sure he kept control of his servants so his father wouldn't think he could take over every aspect of his son's life.

At least, that was what Arthur told himself.

He didn't understand what it was about Merlin that made him feel so… he wouldn't say protective –  _heavens_ , no – but… well, yes – protective. The man was a moron, always goofing up his orders, forgetting to do chores, tripping over his own feet, blathering on, being irritating, and trying to give Arthur advice when his pride just  _did not_  want to hear it. But Merlin was also crazily loyal, occasionally witty, surprisingly hardy (he nearly always escaped desperate situations without a scratch, the events yesterday and today being obvious exceptions), and he was the first person Arthur had met that treated him like Arthur the Person and not Arthur the Prince. He stuck around Arthur not because of what he could gain from doing so, but because of who he believed Arthur was and the kind of king he insisted the prince would be someday. Arthur just didn't understand it.

But somehow, that klutzy servant had found some way of pulling at his conscience, making him second-guess decisions he made, abandon old "friends" that were nothing more than brown-noser bullies, and care  _far_  too much about servants. It was infuriating. At the same time it was refreshing.

Arthur growled under his breath, annoyed at the fact that even when Merlin wasn't here he was making him contemplate his priorities, his motives, and his life in general. It was almost as if the idiot had some sort of personal stock in Arthur becoming a better person. He snorted as he grew closer to the throne room. Merlin was a riddle.

He burst into the throne room, his face expressionless and jaw set. He wasn't going to make his father incorrectly assume that he actually  _cared_  about Merlin's wellbeing. Uther just needed to realize that Merlin was  _Arthur's_  responsibility. He knew that his father had put Merlin in the stocks a number of times before but this was different. Arthur wasn't sure how, exactly, but it just was.

Uther looked up from where he was perusing some sort of report and smiled at his son as if their previous argument about taxes had completely fled his mind. "Ah, Arthur. What brings you here; I thought you were finishing up some tax reports today."

Arthur gritted his teeth at the mention of taxes, the fuel for their earlier disagreement during the meeting, and addressed the matter at hand. "Actually, Father, I'm here to talk to you about my servant." Uther looked at him blankly. Arthur sighed. "Merlin."

Uther gave his son an amused grin. "Ah yes. The idiot."

Arthur fought back a smirk. It wouldn't do to let his father see how wholly he agreed with that sentiment. Deciding to play dumb, not wanting to get Morgana in trouble for some of the rather… unflattering things she'd said about Uther earlier, Arthur went on, "I haven't seen him all day – I can't seem to find him. I was wondering if you had caught wind of where he was."

Uther gave his son a strange look. "Arthur, you would do well to keep track of your own servants and not depend on others to do so."

Arthur grimaced. He hadn't meant to make  _himself_  look bad in the process. He tried again. "I was merely inquiring as to whether you had seen him bumbling about."

Uther studied Arthur for a moment. "Bumbling would be the right word," he announced. He shook his head slowly. "The boy ran into me this morning wearing the strangest clothing. I was willing to let that slide, but when he informed me that he was on his way to wake you up, when he already should have done so, and I felt it necessary to teach him a lesson. He's been put in the stocks for the day; I'll send a guard to let him out when the sun goes down."

Arthur frowned. "Father, I appreciate your concern, but Merlin is  _my_  servant. Don't you think I should have some say in whether or not he's punished for something?"

Uther wasn't moved in the slightest. "The boy is an imbecile, Arthur. Sometimes measures have to be taken."

Arthur rolled his eyes, using the excuse he'd put into practice time and time again, during varying disagreements with his father about his servant. "He saved my life, remember."

Uther chuckled. "I'm beginning to wonder if that was just a fluke; an accident. Arthur,  _surely_  you would fare better if you found another, more confident and reliable servant?"

Arthur felt his anger begin to rise but he squashed it down. He should be agreeing with his father, firing Merlin, and finding someone that actually  _listened_  and didn't talk back or question his decisions. Yes, that's what he  _should_  do, but for some reason, the idea appalled him. Merlin had been his servant for over a year now and life without him as a manservant seemed foreign and quite frankly, boring. "Father, Merlin may be clumsy at times, but he  _is_  a good servant and very loyal. He's saved my life  _twice_  – once from the witch that killed Lady Helen and again when he drank that poison. He's shown that he can be trusted and that's the kind of servant I need."

Uther's eyes drifted down to his report and didn't even rise to acknowledge Arthur as he remarked lightly, "What good is a servant you can trust if he can't even manage to be on time?"

"Look, Father – there was a reason Merlin wasn't early today. I simply forgot to tell him about the early meeting last night. He's been a bit ill and I gave him the evening off and it completely slipped my mind to tell him. Besides, don't you think putting him in the stocks is a bit extreme for running late?" When Uther didn't answer, but continued to read his report, Arthur added, "I'm going to take a guard and let him out of the stocks now."

Uther's head snapped up. "No."

Arthur pressed on, knowing that his father really couldn't care less about Merlin getting out of the stocks and that he just detested anyone going against him. "Yes. The fault was mine, not his. It's boiling outside and as I said, he's not been well. If he stays out there the rest of the day, he could end up having some sort of heat stroke and I  _really_  don't want to have to find someone else to polish my armor." He nodded at one of the guards standing by the door. "Come on, Erick." He strode out of the room as Erick the guard exchanged glances at Uther, who rolled his eyes. Erick shrugged good-naturedly and scurried out after the prince, not really wanting to have  _two_  nobles mad at him.

* * *

When Arthur arrived back in the lower town, Merlin was just standing there, locked in the stocks, and looking rather bored. He was covered in fruits and vegetables but it didn't look like there had been any trouble since he had sent the bullies away. Merlin looked up and looked at Arthur curiously before eyeing the guard warily. "Arthur," he acknowledged. His face was even redder than before but Arthur realized that this was more due to embarrassment than the sunburn. His voice was dry and cracked and Arthur almost winced at the sound of it.

The guard walked forward and stuck the key into the lock around the shackles, turning it and releasing Merlin's wrists. After the stocks were unlocked, Erick stuck around, waiting for more orders, but Arthur nodded at him to tell him his job was done.

Merlin stood up, wincing, and for the first time, Arthur got a full view of the atrocious… thing… Merlin was wearing. He barked out a short laugh as Merlin cracked his back, sighing in relief as his sore muscles could stretch. "Nice dress," he commented brightly.

Merlin sent him a death glare but his eyes, though a bit glazed over, were twinkling. "Hey, it's not my fault. That  _mouse_  ate through all my other clothes."

Arthur raised an eyebrow in disbelief. "A mouse at your clothes?" He sighed in mock annoyance, remembering when he caught Merlin toting a dress around the castle for reasons Arthur didn't even  _want_ to contemplate. "Really,  _Mer_ lin, if you're going to insist on continuing this habit of dressing like women, you need to just come clean about it. No more stupid excuses."

Merlin looked horrified but quickly realized that Arthur was just kidding. Making a face, Merlin muttered, "I'm telling you, Arthur – I'm cursed."

Arthur looked toward the heavens. "This is getting  _really_  old, Merlin." Striding forward, he looked his manservant up and down before asking briskly, "You're alright, then?"

Merlin nodded, dislodging a couple of tomato peels from his hair. "Yeah. A bit burnt. And sore from yesterday."

"Mmm." Arthur studied Merlin for a few more moments before coming to a decision. "Come on, Merlin, you've got work to do."

Merlin gaped and Arthur thoroughly enjoyed his indignation. Served him right for making Arthur worry about him when in actuality he shouldn't have given a second thought. "Can't I at least clean up first?" he almost whined, reverting back to the obnoxious servant that Arthur so often complained about.

Arthur didn't answer but kept walking and from the clumsy footsteps and occasional  _thump_  and corresponding "ow," Arthur knew Merlin was following. "Come on,  _Mer_ lin, don't be such a _girl_ ," Arthur announced. He couldn't resist adding, "Even if you  _do_  look like one in your new dress." He heard Merlin scoff indignantly and took it a step farther. "Don't despair Merlin – it matches your eyes!"

"Hey!" Merlin yelped in protest, scurrying as fast as he could to keep up with Arthur. His throat still sounded extremely dry and painful and Arthur shoved down the shred of guilt he felt for his part in this.

"What's wrong, Merlin?" the prince mocked sarcastically, grateful for the banter to keep things light. "It's a compliment, you should be thankful."

"You," Merlin announced, "are a  _prat_."

Arthur couldn't help but smile. Some things never changed.


	8. Chapter 8

Merlin was exhausted by the time he returned to Gaius's chambers that night.

After releasing him from the stocks, Arthur had hauled Merlin up to his chambers, making teasing remarks about Merlin's choice of clothing wear all along the way. Despite Arthur's joking, Merlin could sense that there was some real concern in the prince's tone, however hidden it might be. Upon reaching Arthur's room, the prince had gone to his wardrobe, rummaged around near the back, and produced a faded blue tunic and old brown breeches. They were too big on Merlin but the warlock changed into them anyway, grateful that Arthur was trying to help him.

Arthur, of course, simply made a face and commented, "Oh, don't look so  _pleased_ ,  _Mer_ lin. The only reason I'm helping you at all is because it's embarrassing to have my servant walking around in that…  _thing_." Merlin had rolled his eyes and called Arthur a prat.

Thankfully, Arthur didn't try to give Merlin the rest of the day off or do anything "nice" to try to make amends and that was perfectly fine with Merlin. He would have been seriously creeped out if Arthur had done anything else – he had been grateful, of course, to get the evening off to heal yesterday, but it  _had_  been a bit unexpected. Arthur did, however, order Merlin to get cleaned up before he started to work.

It had been good to get back into his routine although his bad luck was  _really_  beginning to annoy him – a lot. While hammering the dents out of Arthur's armor, Merlin had also hammered his thumb. He had nearly gotten his head taken off by a startled horse while mucking the stables. He fell carrying  _all_  of Arthur's training equipment on the way to the armory. He spilled Arthur's dinner all over the floor. While helping Arthur out of his armor, the tip of his right pointer finger had somehow managed to get stuck between two links of chainmail – now  _that_  had been awkward. Arthur threw a cup at him, but this time forgot that it still had wine in it and the shirt Arthur had loaned him had gone from blue to blue and purple spotted. Of course, Arthur had somehow managed to find a way to blame Merlin for the mess.

Needless to say, by the time Merlin had managed to get Arthur ready for bed and was leaving the prince's chambers, both master and servant's nerves were on edge and Merlin had had more than one random object chucked at his head. And this time, Merlin hadn't been able to duck a single one of them. It was this stupid curse.

Now, as he stumbled through the door to the physician's quarters, all Merlin wanted to do was fall into bed and sleep until his bad luck went away. He was doubly irritated at Arthur because even though the prince had clearly seen everything that had gone wrong over the course of the last part of the day, he  _still_  refused to even consider the idea that Merlin had really been cursed. How thick could Arthur get, really? He had been there when the old woman had cursed his servant, had heard her words, seen the effects, and yet adamantly insisted that it was just a coincidence and that Merlin had let it get into his mind and that he was somehow subconsciously causing all this to happen.

Gaius looked up as Merlin trudged in, eyes wide. "Merlin! Where have you been all day?"

Merlin rolled his eyes and collapsed on a stool. "Work – well, the second half of the day, at least. The first part I was stuck in the stocks, getting all manner of fruit, vegetable, and possibly mineral thrown at me by Nigel and his cronies." He rolled his shoulders, cracking his back in the process.

"In this heat? Why, your skin is as red as the tongue of a snake!" The old man rose, oblivious to Merlin's amusement at his odd metaphors, and began to mix two herbs together in a bowl. "I'll make you a salve for your skin; it should take the sting out of the burn although I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for the color." He paused in his mixing. "Do you care to tell me  _why_  you spent the morning in the stocks? And what happened to the robes I let you borrow?"

Merlin huffed in laughter and began to recount his day, grimacing as the physician came forward and began to spread his sunburn salve all over Merlin's face and neck. After a few moments the sting was completely gone. After he had finished speaking, Gaius shook his head in disbelief. "Only you, Merlin…" he sighed, torn between sympathy and amusement for his ward. He regarded Merlin's stained shirt. "Take off your shirt, I'll try to wash the wine out."

Merlin shook his head. "It's fine.  _Crys gl_ _ân._ " His eyes flashed gold and the purple stains were siphoned away. "See?"

Gaius harrumphed and smacked Merlin on the back of the head. "Oi! What have I told you about using magic for such trivial things?"

Merlin good-naturedly grumbled something about indecisive old men but wisely let the subject go at Gaius's infamous ascending eyebrow. "Sorry, sorry." He leaned forward, cupping one side of his face in his hand, his elbow propped on the table as Gaius pushed his slightly cold dinner toward him and sat down himself. "So, have you had any time to start looking for a way to fix this?"

Gaius watched the young man as he began to pick at the thin soup and let out a dissatisfied puff of air. "I'm sorry, Merlin, but I've been busy with patients all day. It seems Sir Eleanor and Sir Bedevere didn't have the good sense to skip training today and wound up coming to me with the beginnings of a heat stroke setting in."

Merlin's brow furrowed, concerned. "Are they alright?"

Smiling wanly, Gaius answered, "Yes, Merlin, they will be after a good night's rest." He observed his ward critically. "I'm inclined to believe that your situation is more dangerous, Merlin."

Merlin snorted into his stew. "Doubtful. It's not been fun, but nothing  _really_  bad has happened. The worst that's happened was falling down that ravine. I'll be fine." Gaius could tell that Merlin didn't seem inclined to believe his own words and frowned.

"I know you're tired, Merlin, but we have to start searching tonight. Your bad luck might have been relatively mild so far, but there is no guarantee that it will not continue to grow worse as time passes."

Merlin nodded glumly, glancing longingly at his bedroom door and imagining the bed behind it. "Okay. I'm sure we'll be able to find  _something_."

* * *

They didn't find anything. He and Gaius had stayed up the better part of the night going through books, skimming texts, searching for spells and potions, and trying without success to find out just what kind of magic was used on Merlin and how to combat it. But the results of their different failed attempts had been interesting, to say the least.

" _Disodli gyda lwc ddwg da!_ " Nothing happened.

" _Adfer fi!_ " Merlin's fingers swelled up to the size of large sausages. They never figured out if Merlin had mispronounced something in the spell or if Merlin's bad luck was simply at it again.

" _Cael gwared ar y fellitith!_ " The tips of Merlin's ears turned green. It took nearly two hours to set them right again.

" _Lwc drwg yn mynd!_ " Gaius's ink well turned into a spider. Merlin threw the spell book down, letting out a yell of frustration while Gaius's last supply of ink scuttled under under the table. They were getting nowhere.

When the first rays of light began to peek through the window, Merlin grunted and slowly, stiffly rose from his uncomfortable position half sitting on his stool, half face down on the table, books spread out around him. Gaius was snoring softly into a copy of  _Charms, Curses, and Spells – A Beginner's Guide_. Sighing, Merlin pushed himself up (slamming his shin on the table in the process) and, limping slightly from his newest bruise, made his way over to the water basin and began splashing his face in a meager attempt to get ready for the day.

Arthur was wanting to go to the training field today. He had a feeling it was going to be a  _very_ long day.

* * *

"Run, Merlin!"

Merlin sucked in a huge gulp of air, focused on  _not_  turning Arthur into a frog, and pumped his arms harder as his legs burned from the exertion. They had been on the training field for less than fifteen minutes and already Arthur was using him for target practice. Despite feeling uncomfortable with the idea of Arthur giving him special treatment because of his injuries, Merlin couldn't help but wish that Arthur would have had a little consideration for Merlin's aching back and shoulders. Toting that target around was anything but easy under normal circumstances.

Still, it did give Merlin a chance to run off some of his earlier frustration. It was infuriating, knowing something was wrong but unable to do anything about it. He must have tried a dozen different spells last night, copied down the recipe for at least five potential potions (every single one of them containing a dash of sheep's brain), and read so many words that his brain had wanted to explode. And what did he get for his troubles? Inflated fingers, green ears, and a spider bite on his left ankle (Gaius's ink well had taken a rather sizable chunk out of his flesh before Merlin had managed to squash it underfoot). The bite still stung a little but thankfully his spell hadn't mutated the container into a poisonous arachnid.

There was a whistle of a spear sailing through the air and a thud as the weapon hit the thick wooden target on the servant's back. Grunting under the impact, Merlin toppled over onto his front, gasping for air. His face was planted in the grass and he didn't even try to get up – he knew Arthur would be along any moment to yell at him and yank him to his feet. He was right.

" _Mer_ lin, you  _idiot_  – the whole part of a  _moving_  target is to make it challenging to hit! If you run in a straight line, what good does that do?" Merlin mumbled something into the dirt and Arthur grabbed the spear, yanking it out of the target, and pulled Merlin to his feet where he wobbled a bit unsteadily. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Merlin, you're such a  _girl_."

Merlin snorted. "And you say  _I_  need to come up with a new insult? Honestly." Arthur shoved his servant gently and Merlin grinned.

"Right," Arthur pressed on, beginning to feel awkward at the companionable silence between the two of them, "this time,  _Mer_ lin, don't just run in a straight line. I know you're hopelessly clumsy but even  _you_  can manage to dodge around, can't you?" Merlin's light-hearted shrug was hindered by the target strapped to his back and Arthur bit back laughter. The prince shoved Merlin in the back to get him started. "Run, Merlin! And this time, try  _not_  to get hit by the spear!"

Merlin began to run, doing as he was told, all the while trying to ignore the anxious feeling in the pit of his stomach that was ominously predicting Merlin's curse was going to rear its ugly head again, perhaps to make up for lost time. As relieving as it was, the fact that Merlin's bad luck hadn't been bothering him much since he had woken up, it was also a bit unnerving. Merlin felt paranoid, his nerves on edge. He didn't know what was going to happen next and quite frankly, it worried him.

As training wore on, however, with no new injuries, pains, or messes, Merlin began to harbor a tiny bit of hope that maybe one of his spells last night had actually accomplished something other than altering his physical appearance and making inanimate objects alive. His hopeful musings were cut off abruptly as a blinding pain flashed through his ankle and up his leg and he pitched forward violently, a short cry of pain escaping his lips.

* * *

Arthur watched as Merlin plunged forward, sprawling on the grass. A short bark of laughter escaped him as he glanced at the spear still in his hand – he hadn't thrown it, it hadn't even touched the target, and already Merlin had fallen flat on his face, the clumsy idiot. Tapping his fingers impatiently on the handle of the spear, Arthur waited for Merlin to get up with some sort of stupid excuse to try and nullify his klutziness. To his surprise, Merlin simply stayed where he was.

Rolling his eyes dramatically, Arthur flung the spear onto the ground and stomped over to his servant, ready to give the boy a piece of his mind. He stopped short when he realized that Merlin's face was screwed up tightly in pain. "Merlin?"

Merlin shifted slightly, pushed himself up to his hands and knees, and winced. "Bloody hole," he groused.

Arthur's eyebrows shot up. "What did you call me?"

Merlin laughed but the sound was strained. "No – I stepped in a hole." He grimaced. "My ankle…"

Arthur cursed. "You  _really_  are completely hopeless, aren't you,  _Mer_ lin?"

Merlin sent his master a quirky grin. "You  _really_  are a complete prat, aren't you,  _Ar_ thur?" he joked, his eyes twinkling despite the pain of his twisted ankle.

Arthur sent Merlin a deadly glare but Merlin just grinned and Arthur shook his head at his servant's antics. Leaning over, he carefully helped Merlin to his feet – well,  _foot_ , actually; Merlin wasn't able to put any weight on his injured ankle whatsoever – and began to half-drag, half-carry the servant across the training field. "Come on, idiot, let's get you to Gaius."

Merlin was quiet for a few moments. Arthur reveled in the silence, as it was something he didn't get much of when Merlin was around. Unfortunately for him, Merlin wasn't one to remain quiet for very long. "Arthur?"

"What?" Perhaps his voice came out a little softer than he'd meant it to.

"I told you I was cursed."

"Shut up,  _Mer_ lin."

Surprisingly, Merlin did what he was told for once and the two young men continued on their way to the physician's chambers in silence, each trapped within their own musings and worries. After two days of the worst luck Arthur had ever seen one person have in such a short span of time, a small, niggling worm of thought had managed to wriggle its way into the prince's brain – that maybe Merlin's theory of being cursed wasn't too far-fetched after all.


	9. Chapter 9

Merlin's foot wasn't broken but his ankle was sprained – badly. So badly, in fact, that it had taken Arthur latching onto Merlin's shoulders and Gaius pulling on Merlin's boot with all his strength for the shoe to slide unwillingly off the swollen appendage. Once the boot had been yanked off and Merlin was sitting on the patient bed gasping for breath and trying to stay conscious despite the back spots hovering in his line of sight, Arthur and Gaius both let out a collective groan. "That," Arthur observed quite unnecessarily, "does  _not_  look good."

"Quite," Gaius agreed, shaking his head slightly.  _Only Merlin…_

Merlin, who had been doing his best  _not_ to look at his foot, found himself glancing at it anyway because of Gaius's and Arthur's reaction. He groaned pitifully as he took in his injury. The ankle was blotted with bruises of varying colors, swollen to at least twice its normal size. " _Please_ tell me it's going to be easy to fix," he grumbled, glaring at Arthur like the prince had planned this.

Arthur, on his part, simply glared back. "It's your own fault,  _Mer_ lin. Only you could find a hole on the training field and step right into it!"

Gaius looked surprised even as he shuffled over to one of his shelves and started mixing herbs together. "A hole in the training field? I thought the grounds caretakers checked for holes periodically so as not to injure the knights."

Arthur scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I thought so, too. I'll have a talk with them, inform them that they need to start doing their job better. We're lucky it was just Merlin and not a knight that got injured."

"Hey!" Merlin protested. " _Just_  Merlin?"

Arthur grinned and leaned easily against the table. "You know what I mean. We need the knights to be fighting fit. They protect Camelot. And you… well, you couldn't protect Camelot if your life depended on it."

Merlin snorted. "You'd be surprised," he muttered darkly. "OW!" he yelped as Gaius wacked him on the back of the head none too gently. " _What?_ "

Gaius didn't respond other than to lift that eyebrow of his and Merlin knew what he meant.  _Shut your big mouth._  He'd gotten the infamous eyebrow raise enough times to read it like a book.

Arthur smirked. "Don't flatter yourself, Merlin. The only thing you're good for on a quest is as a morale booster – the men look at you and they  _have_  to laugh!"

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah? Well, the only thing you're good for on a quest is as a morale downer."

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "A morale… downer?" He didn't sound too pleased.

But Merlin was on a role and Gaius wasn't about to tell him to be quiet now because the back and forth with Arthur was distracting him from the painful process of having his ankle wrapped securely. Even so, he still winced periodically as he spoke. "Yeah."

"Care to elaborate  _how_?"

Merlin shook his head. "Nah. Gaius'd probably just hit me again and you'd throw something at me for sure." Arthur reached over to the table, found a small cup, and chucked it at Merlin. It clanged off of his right shoulder, barely missing Gaius, who was  _not_  amused.

Arthur flushed. "Sorry. I was aiming for the idiot."

Gaius shook his head fondly at the antics of the two boys and finished wrapping Merlin's ankle. He then took the medicine he had just mixed and handed it to Merlin, ordering him to drink it all. Merlin cringed but did as he was told, making quite a show of how terrible it was after he had downed it. Arthur laughed.

"That should help with the pain," Gaius announced. He turned to Arthur. "I'm sorry, sire, but I don't believe Merlin will be able to return to work for at least two days. And even after that, he'll have to use a crutch for at least a week."

Merlin groaned and Arthur rolled his eyes. "I'm  _fine,_  Gaius," Merlin insisted, the thought of spending two days cooped up in this room only adding to his misery.

Gaius stared his ward down and crossed his arms over his chest. "Care to test that theory?"

Merlin swung his legs stubbornly over the edge of the bed and stood on his good foot. Tentatively he took a step forward, nearly crying out at the consuming pain that bit up his leg as he did so. He would have fallen face first if Arthur hadn't jumped up and lunged to catch him. Humming with frustration, Merlin grudgingly allowed the prince to lever him back onto the bed. "Fine," he muttered. "I'll stay in bed. But that doesn't mean I have to be happy about it."

Arthur punched him lightly in the shoulder. "Come on, cut the act,  _Mer_ lin. We know that you're just pretending to be down – this was really your plan all along, getting out of work. You really _are_  a lazy bum!"

Merlin half-smiled. "Yeah, well, if you weren't such a lazy bum yourself you wouldn't  _need_  a servant to follow you around and clean up your mess, would you?"

Arthur glowered at the injured servant. "Idiot."

"Prat."

" _Merlin!_ " Merlin let out a small yelp as Gaius smacked him on the head again.

"What? I call him that all the time! He likes it, isn't that right, Arthur?"

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and did his best to pretend that he wasn't on the verge of bursting into a fit of laughter. Mock frowning, he said in a deadly serious tone, "Do I  _look_  like I like it,  _Mer_ lin?"

He smirked as Merlin grumbled something unintelligible and more than likely rude under his breath before growing serious. "You'll be okay, then?"

Merlin shrugged. "I'm fine. Just cursed and all. Who knows what will happen to me next… And I'll blame you, Arthur, because you don't believe me…" He trailed off mournfully, studying Arthur through narrowed eyes to gauge his reaction.

Arthur wasn't impressed. "Right. Well, get some rest, Merlin." He gave his servant a quick squeeze on the shoulder and a slight smile before reminding him, "In two days time, I expect to see you back at work, crutch or no crutch. Are we clear?"

Merlin grinned. "Crystal."

Rolling his eyes at Merlin's cheekiness, Arthur nodded at Gaius and slowly made his way from the physician's chambers, lost in thought. Surely Merlin couldn't be cursed. He was just being superstitious, wasn't he? He shook his head as he walked down the hallway. As sure as he was that this was all in Merlin's head, the prince resolved that once Merlin returned to work, he would keep a close eye on him, just to be sure.

* * *

The next two days had to be the most boring of Merlin's life. He hated being stuck inside and being confined to a bed was even worse. On top of that, his luck hadn't gotten any better. He had tried to console himself with the thought that maybe since he was going to be staying in Gaius's chambers, sitting or lying down, that there wouldn't be much of anything that could happen to him.

How wrong he was.

Within the first hour, Gaius had tried to help him ascend the steps to his room so that he could at least have his magic book for entertainment. Unfortunately, this had taken nearly the entire hour as Merlin had found himself barreling backwards down the steps at least five times, stomping on Gaius's foot with his good one no less than three times, and finally resorted to dragging himself up the stairs on his hands and knees. Even then his bad luck was working against him. When he finally made it to his bed, he had four splinters embedded deeply in his hands.

By the time Gaius brought him his dinner, Merlin had fallen off of the bed once, accidentally knocked over the candle and almost set himself on fire, banged his foot on the side of the bed, misplaced his spell book (only to find that he was sitting on it), gotten five paper cuts, and gotten every spell he'd tried to reverse his luck with wrong. He was more than frustrated and it didn't help that as soon as he took hold of his dinner he tried to warm it up, resulting in a scalding hot bowl of stew that Merlin promptly dropped in surprise and spilled all over himself. "Yee-oow!" he had exclaimed, along with a few other words that his mother would have been appalled to hear him say. He hadn't been able to control it, though. That had been some seriously  _hot_  soup.

* * *

That night, just as he was drifting off to sleep, a voice reverberated through Merlin's head, strong and gravelly.  _Merlin…_

He rolled his eyes. The Great Dragon was just going to have to wait. Merlin couldn't make across the room, let alone all those stairs, so there was no way he was going to get to visit him tonight. Whatever he had to say could wait.

_Merlin…_

He cupped his hands over his ears, trying to ignore the dragon's call. " _Go away,"_  he thought.

Suddenly an offended feeling jumped through Merlin's aching head (he had hit his head thrice on the wall behind his bed).  _Merlin, that's not very polite…_

Merlin growled. " _If you want to talk to me, you'll have to do it from where you are telepathically",_  he informed the dragon. " _I can't go anywhere at the moment."_

_What happened, young warlock?_

Merlin sighed. Maybe the dragon would be able to help him find a solution. More likely than not, though, all the dragon would do was give him yet another cryptic riddle. Still, it couldn't hurt to ask for help. " _I've been cursed."_  He told the dragon everything.

When he had finished, there was silence in his head and he wondered if the dragon had gotten bored and fallen asleep or was just thinking. He nearly fell out of his bed when the voice sarcastically cut into his mind again.  _I can hear you, you know._  Merlin rolled his eyes but didn't answer. The dragon spoke again.  _From what you have described, young warlock, you have witnessed a very ancient, rare, and powerful magic. You should truly be honored._

Merlin laughed. " _Yeah, because it's such an honor to be even more clumsy than usual!"_

_Your curse is your own fault, Merlin._

Merlin made an irritated little noise. " _Thanks. That makes me feel_ loads _better. I swear, I didn't mean to shatter that charm! It wasn't my fault – I tripped over a root and ran into the door!"_

_Be that as it may, you still broke the charm and unwittingly unleashed the curse on yourself._

_"You mentioned an ancient magic. What was it?"_

There was a smile in the dragon's voice.  _The woman you met was not just any ordinary sorceress, Merlin. She was a rare creature, a dryad, a spirit of the earth. A direct descendent of the world herself._

Merlin's brow creased as he remembered. " _She said something about how the charm was a gift from the Earth to her children. She meant it… literally?"_

 _Yes, Merlin_ , the dragon responded coolly.  _The charm contained a great, powerful magic that has the power to heal_  and  _to harm. The power of the earth itself. If you wish to end your curse, you must appeal to the dryad you offended. Learn her name. Speak to her. And then perhaps the way to lift the curse will be opened up to you._

Merlin huffed at the vague solution.  _"You know how I can end the curse, don't you?"_

_Perhaps, young warlock. But this is something you must figure out for yourself._

Merlin groaned irritably and snapped mentally,  _"Fine. But if that's all you're going to do, give me more riddles, I'm going to bed now."_

_Goodnight, young warlock._

Merlin rolled his eyes as the dragon went silent.

Great. This was just…  _great_.


	10. Chapter 10

When Merlin was finally able to fully return to work a week later, he was on the verge of going stir crazy and didn't think he had ever been this happy to see Arthur's messy chambers. He'd been here a few times on crutches but soon found out that going up and down stairs with only one good foot was  _not_  a bright idea, especially when you have been cursed by ancient earth magic. He hadn't even tried to talk to the dragon again because he knew he wouldn't learn anything new. He was going to have to find a way to find the woman again, with or without help.

He had mentioned the "dryad" to Gaius the day after he had spoken to the Great Dragon and Gaius had frowned. "I've heard of dryads," he had muttered. "Very reclusive beings – very old and wise."

"But how exactly dos that help me break the curse?" Merlin had moaned, dropping his head into his hands and yelping when he nearly poked his eye out.

"I'll do some research," Gaius had promised. Merlin didn't have too much hope, though. Gaius always did research. He knew that if he was going to take care of the problem, he would have to do what the dragon said – go find the dryad and try to make peace with her. Now that he was finally off that crutch – albeit still limping along on his still slightly enlarged and very colorful ankle – he decided to try and get the curse lifted as soon as possible.

Wow, was it good to be on his feet again!

When he had been limping along on a crutch he had realized that it was causing more than its fair share of stumbles and injuries, although he had a feeling his natural clumsiness was just as much to blame as the curse in this case – not that he would admit it to anyone, least of all Arthur. As far as he had been concerned, now until the curse had been lifted, every time he tripped or looked like an idiot he was going to blame it on the curse. Not that Arthur would believe him, anyway – he still adamantly insisted that there was no curse. It was infuriating.

Now he was limping to Arthur's chambers, trying his best not to wince each time his tender foot hit the cold stone of the floor. Gaius hadn't been entirely convinced that he should return to work today, but the warlock had insisted. He would go mad if he was left doing not much of anything for another day. As much as he'd  _loved_  sitting around and polishing the armor that Arthur brought to him (he could have just had another servant tote the armor to Merlin's chambers or, heaven forbid, let the other servant do it themselves but Merlin had a sneaking suspicion that the prince was also checking up on him), he was ready to get back into his routine. Also, he was running out of bad things that could happen to him in Gaius's chambers. There were only so many times a person could get hit on the head by a book, fall over a crack in the floor, or accidentally drink a regurgitation stimulation potion instead of their water (the  _worst_  two times of his life!). He had joked with Gaius that he was ready for a little adventure.

He was just ready for normalcy.

The one thing that he dreaded would happen, though, was someone trying to kill or harm Arthur while he was like this. Half of the time he couldn't get any of the spells right because of this curse and he was afraid he'd get caught using magic if he did it in the same room with anyone else. He would perform magic if necessary, however, because he wasn't about to risk Arthur's life for the possibility that he would get caught. After all, getting caught using magic had  _always_  been a possibility – although now it was substantially more likely.

Griping mentally about touchy tree spirits and princes that couldn't take care of themselves, Merlin threw open the door to Arthur's room and hobbled in to see that Arthur was still fast asleep, lying on his stomach with his rear stuck up in the air in a rather un-princely manner, legs tucked beneath him. Merlin couldn't help but giggle at the sight as he limped to the window and drew open the curtains. "GOOOOD morning!" he boasted loudly, causing Arthur to make a strange noise and burrow deeper into his pillow. Sighing, Merlin made a face. Arthur was  _so_ difficult sometimes.

"Come on, clot pole," he goaded in a much-too-cheery tone (the kind of tone that anyone, royal or not, hates more than anything first thing in the morning), "up and at'em! You should be extra-happy today because you finally get your favorite person in all the world back as your servant – _oof!_ " The pillow hit him in the head and he stumbled back, stomped hard on his hurt foot, and, arms pinwheeling wildly, toppled over and hit his head on the wall behind him. His eyes exploded with stars and he tried to clear his head but found it difficult. He decided to just lay there, stunned, until his bearings came back to him enough to be able to lever himself off the floor.

His vision still a little blurry, he saw Arthur sit up on his bed and stare at him. "What are you doing down there?" he asked a little prattishly as far as Merlin was concerned.

If Merlin's eyes hadn't felt like someone was trying to push them out of his head from behind his sockets he would have rolled them dramatically. As it was, he flapped his arms rather pathetically against the floor in an effort to get up. Arthur seemed to have realized what had happened and got up, kneeling by Merlin's side and helping him into a sitting position, leaning against the wall his head had just been introduced to.

"Thanks," Merlin acknowledged, blinking to try and make the headache go away.

Arthur stood and gazed down at his servant, trying to pretend he wasn't concerned. "Are you sure you should be back at work?"

Merlin huffed impatiently. "I'm  _fine_. Besides, it's not my fault your favorite pastime is throwing things at me!"

"That pillow," Arthur growled, stooping to lift it and hefting it over his sitting servant, "weighs next to  _nothing_. If you can't even withstand getting hit by that, you're even more pathetic than I thought."

Merlin managed to roll his eyes this time, wincing good naturedly as it hurt his head, and climbed unsteadily to his feet. "Well, I may be pathetic, but at least I'm not a prat!" Rubbing the back of his head wearily, he went on before his master could cut in with another insult or extra chore, he said, "I'll go and get your breakfast, then."

"No need. I'll be dining with my father this morning." Seeing a slightly panicked expression on his servant's face he quickly reassured, "You're actually on time today, Merlin. Besides, my father won't be throwing you in the stocks anymore without my permission."

Merlin smirked but didn't say anything. Instead he hobbled over to the wardrobe to find the prince's clothing for the day. As he worked, he brought up the subject he'd been wanting to talk about since he had entered the room. "The old lady, from the forest…"

Arthur groaned. "Don't tell me you're still convinced there's a curse,  _Mer_ lin!" he snapped impatiently.

"Don't tell me you're too blind to see it!" Merlin retorted, irritated that nearly every concern he voiced was being shot down instantly. "Even Gaius believes me!"

This made Arthur stop and ponder for the fraction of a second before laughing softly. " _Gaius_ ," he reminded fondly, "is even more superstitious than  _you_ , Merlin. I can't count how many times he has attributed bad things in Camelot to curses and spirits and the like."

"And how many times has he been right?" Merlin challenged, eyebrows lifted almost into his hair.

Arthur muttered something irritably under his breath before grabbing the clothes from Merlin's hands and disappearing behind the screen. "Fine, Merlin," he gave in, his voice muffled as he lifted his shirt over his head. The material flew over the top of the screen and wacked Merlin in the face. Grimacing, Merlin pulled Arthur's sleep shirt off of his head and waited for the prince to continue. " _What_  is it you want to say?"

Merlin knew Arthur was just letting up because he didn't want Merlin to pester him about it all day so he only had one shot at this and he had to make it convincing. "I've done – well, Gaius – and me, too… anyway, we've done some, er, research… and we think the lady was a… tree spirit?"

A loud laugh emanated from behind the screen and Merlin frowned. Arthur's jovial face popped out from the side and he snorted. "A tree spirit? That's got to be the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!"

"No, I'm serious – they're called dryads and their magic is strong and linked closely to the earth—"

Arthur, now dressed for the day, strode purposefully from behind his changing screen and stood in front of Merlin. "That's enough, Merlin."

"But—"

"Magic isn't something to joke about, Merlin. It's dangerous."

To his utter humiliation, Merlin felt the sting of tears of anger prick the back of his eyes but he restrained them, glaring at the prince. After everything he'd done for that prat, all he had suffered through – and was going through – Arthur not only flat out refused to consider the idea that his servant was actually cursed but still insisted that magic was bad, even when he'd seen it used for good. Irritation boiling over, Merlin snapped, "Fine. I'll go take your laundry,  _sire_." He scooped up Arthur's dirty clothes and shuffled with as much dignity as he could out of the prince's room. He hadn't meant to be so short with Arthur but after everything that had happened… he wished that Arthur would trust him more.

* * *

When Merlin had dropped Arthur's laundry off, he turned to leave the room and found himself face to face with Gwen. "Hi, Merlin!" she said cheerily. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," he answered softly, not quite meeting her dark eyes. The serving girl studied him closely, eyes roving over his slightly hunched shoulders and red-rimmed eyes.

"Merlin…" she sighed, reaching out and squeezing his arm gently. "What's wrong?"

"I… nothing," Merlin lied, trying to skirt around her under the guise of getting back to Arthur but she didn't seem to believe it for a second. Instead she took him by the hand and led him out of the washroom and down the corridor a way before letting him go and standing back, studying him.

"What happened?" she asked again.

"Arthur," Merlin growled. Her eyebrows raised delicately at his outburst and he felt guilty. He knew that Gwen admired Arthur and had a sneaking suspicion that the prince was beginning to see Gwen as more than a servant. He didn't want to cause any trouble between them. He sighed. "Look, Gwen, I appreciate your concern – really, I do – but this is just something I'm going to have to deal with on my own." He hesitated. "There's something I've got to do… can you cover for me?"

Gwen stared. "Lie to Arthur?"

"No, no, of course not… just, if he asks, tell him I had to go see to something important. He probably won't ask, though – we had a bit of a falling out this morning. Well… I snapped at him, really. But it wasn't my fault. He's a prat!" he weakly insisted, seeing Gwen's amusement.

Rolling her eyes, Gwen smiled. "What is it you have to do?"

"Er… pick herbs for Gaius. In the woods. For… medicine," he fibbed.

"Really?" Gwen's tone implied that she did not believe him in the slightest.

"Gwen, this is important – I swear I'll tell you everything when I get back. But I  _have_  to do this. Please?"

"Okay," she finally conceded, "but I'm not going to lie to Arthur. If he asks what you're doing, I'm going to tell him the truth – that you say you're going to pick herbs but I think you're just making things up as you go along." There was a teasing smile on her face and Merlin couldn't help but grin back.

"Thanks, Gwen! You're the greatest!"

He quickly limped away from the laundry room and headed for the main door to the courtyard. He knew it was probably reckless and impulsive but Merlin couldn't take the bad luck anymore. If Arthur wasn't going to take him seriously then he'd just have to go find the dryad himself and the sooner the better.

* * *

Ten minutes later, he was trudging into the Darkling Woods, leaning heavily on his good foot. He had fallen no less than seven times already, gotten caught in three thistles, and nearly fallen in a hole. He was beginning to wonder if this had really been such a wise idea after all. He had just been so angry at Arthur for his remarks and seeming refusal to care about what Merlin was going through that he had done the first rash thing that had popped into his head. Perhaps he should have waited or at least told someone where he was going – well, he kind of did, he did say he was going into the forest…

Deciding that he had already set out, Merlin picked up a long, sturdy stick lying on the side of the path well-worn by many a hunting party, the warlock used it as a kind of cane to ease up the pain flaring up his leg. Gaius had warned him not to do too much walking today… Cursing himself for his reckless stupidity, Merlin carried on, keeping his eyes peeled for the house he had seen last time. He could faintly feel the earthy hum of that spot's magic and wondered how he could have ever missed it before. Maybe it was because he knew what he was looking for this time.

Thirty minutes later, he finally stumbled up to the shack, having sustained an amazing number of bruises, cuts, and several muddy splats along the way. "Hello?" he called, praying his ordeal was finally going to be at an end. "HELLO?" There was no answer. He tried again. "Please, I need to speak to you! Hello?"

He heard the sound of a foot scraping the ground and was about to turn around hopefully when something cold and sharp nicked the back of his neck. He heard more footsteps and some dark chuckles and realized that he was surrounded but by who? He had never run into bandits in this part of the forest – they tended to stay close to the borders of Cenred's kingdom, not this close to Camelot. What were the chances of –?

And then he remembered. Oh right. Bad luck.

 _Stupid!_  He chided himself. He never should have come out here by himself. A large hand fell on his shoulder and the sword point dug deeper into his neck. A cold, deep voice chortled and said, "Well,  _hello_  to you too."

He closed his eyes briefly. He didn't know if his magic would even respond right – it only seemed to work properly half of the time these days – but he knew he had to act fast or he'd be dead or a captive within minutes. Focusing his magic as best he could with that dreadful curse hanging over him, Merlin opened his flashing gold eyes, hoping that if he took out the leader, the others hiding would be afraid of his powers and skedaddle. Unfortunately, luck was no longer on his side.

The magic burst out of him and then all heck broke loose.


	11. Chapter 11

The magic that Merlin sent out was supposed to have sent the men around him flying away from him. Instead, his terrible misfortune had interfered with his powers and caused just the opposite to happen. As his eyes melted back to blue from gold, he barely had time to utter, "Oh no," before six bandits came flying out of the bushes through the air, via his magic, and zipped crazily toward the terrified servant. He felt the pressure of the sword leave his neck as he somehow managed not to get decapitated by it, but the relief of the sword being gone was  _very_ short lived as all six bandits – along with their leader – crashed into him, sending him face-first into the dirt and landing in a heap of muscles on top of him.

While the seven bandits groaned and mumbled and tried to find their senses again, Merlin was simply trying to breathe. No coherent thoughts sprang to his mind, nothing but pain and the crushing weight on top of him. He tried to move but he was still buried. He tried to suck in another breath, but none came. His whole body – but especially his chest and abdomen – hurt fiercely and his head swam. There was an enticing blackness hovering just out of his line of sight and he yearned for its respite but resisted, still trying to breathe.

After what seemed like ages, the weight was lifted off of him but he didn't move. He took in one deep breath and grunted in pain as it hurt his chest. He realized that he might have bruised his ribs – or worse. Trying not to think of the grim prospect, Merlin simply focused on taking in short, shallow breaths and staying conscious. He could still feel a weight on his back, but this time it wasn't physical, but the weight of seven pairs of eyes on him. The thought made his skin craw and he realized that he was more or less helpless – his magic had only served to cause him more pain and he had no reason to believe that it would actually work right if he tried to use it again.

Finally he was able to breathe a little better and he slowly, painfully, forced himself to roll over onto his back, his chest smarting at the movement. When he had succeeded he flopped his head back onto the ground, exhausted. He heard a low chuckle and opened his eyes to see seven of the most ridiculously muscular men he'd ever laid eyes on – it was like being surrounded by a slew of Arthurs, as scary as that prospect was. Still… as he looked around and saw the malice in their eyes, Merlin wondered if might prefer a clan of angry Arthurs to this. He'd take just about anything else right now.

The man who Merlin recognized as the leader by his voice – the same voice that had hissed sinisterly in his ear after pricking him in the neck with a sword – chortled. He was a tall man – at least a good three inches above Merlin, and Merlin was not a short man by any means. His face was round but his features angular. His nose was lumpy as if it had been broken many times. His skull cap gleamed, hairless, in the light filtering through the green of the trees and two beady, cruel gray eyes glared at him from slightly sunken sockets. "Well, well, well… seems we've found us a lit'l sorc'rer." Merlin's eyes narrowed as he let his eyes wander around the circle of men. Every one of them had unsheathed deadly weapons and were glowering at him fiercely.

"Not a very good one, though, eh Ash?" the man to the leader's immediate left giggled.

"I'd say not," Ash responded coldly as Merlin struggled to sit up. He stared at his prize for several moments before coming to a decision. "But I'd reckon Jarl will still be pleased t' have caught one with magic anyways."

"Even with magic, I don't see why anyone would want to buy that scrawny brat," another bandit snorted. Merlin's eyes flashed fire and he stumbled to his feet.

"I'm warning you," he announced with much more confidence and bravado than he felt. "Back off, or I'll unleash my full power on you!"

The leader, Ash, erupted into a fit of laughing. "What'cha gonna do, lit'l sorc'rer? Make me stab you with my sword?"

Merlin's face flushed at the taunt but he remained silent, knowing that if he were to try and use his magic again in his current state, that could very well happen.

Ash had apparently had enough fun and smiled wickedly. "Well, lads, Jarl'll be pleased with the catch o'the day, so let's bring him in, eh?"

Merlin stood his ground and tried to ignore his heart beating frantically behind his injured rib cage as the men started to move in closer. "Take him!" Ash's voice rang out and then he was swamped by the bandits, hands grabbing his clothes, something being forced in his mouth and over his head, something coarse wrapped around his wrists and tightening. He tried to control the nausea swelling in him at the pain and helplessness and he could only hope that someone had noticed his absence by now or that Gwen had broken her promise not to tell even though he had only been gone for about an hour.

* * *

"Guinevere!" Gwen turned on her heel, nearly dropping her armload of linens in the process as the very irritated voice rang through the hallway. Gwen closed her eyes briefly, knowing that Arthur's anger wasn't directed at her but feeling bad for whoever it  _was_  intended for – and Gwen had a pretty good idea of who the recipient was. Her suspicions were confirmed when she turned to meet the prince's gaze and he demanded, "Have you seen Merlin?"

Gwen blinked innocently. "He's still gone?" She felt a slight tickle in her stomach at the news that Merlin still wasn't back. He'd been gone on his "herb hunt" for nearly four hours now. She had assumed that whatever it was he had to do, he would have done it by now and gotten back to Arthur. Guilt began to gnaw at her as she realized that maybe she should have gone to Arthur as soon as she had learned that Merlin was up to something. Still, he had insisted that this was important and she hadn't wanted to betray his trust.

Arthur's eyes narrowed to slits. "What do you mean,  _still gone_?" he asked suspiciously. "You _knew_ he was missing?"

At the word "missing" Gwen's heart leapt slightly. "No, he's not – missing I mean," Gwen stammered. "I-I'm sorry, my lord, I should have gone to you as soon as I spoke with him, but he insisted he had to go do something and asked me to cover for him. I told him I wouldn't go telling anyone intentionally that he was gone somewhere, but if anyone asked, I'd tell them the truth."

Arthur let out a small explosion of breath. "And what  _is_  the truth?"

Biting her lip anxiously, Gwen spouted out, "He claimed to have been going into the forest to look for herbs for Gaius but I don't believe him in the slightest. He  _does_  tend to go off by himself sometimes, though, so I thought that it was nothing to be concerned about… Arthur?"

Arthur's face had gotten paler and he gave a huff of exasperation. "It's okay, Gwen. Merlin's sneakier than he looks." Rolling his eyes, he griped, "I know exactly where that idiot is, too."

Gwen's eyebrows raised slightly in amusement. "You do? Then why ask me where he is, sire?"

Arthur found himself smiling at her wit. It almost made him think of something Merlin would say, except it sounded  _so_  much less disrespectful coming from Gwen's lips. Apparently Gwen was inclined to disagree, for her eyes dropped to the floor and she mumbled, "I'm sorry. That wasn't very polite, was it?"

Arthur put a strong hand on her arm and her eyes darted to it before landing on his face. "It was a perfectly valid question," he said before continuing wearily, " _Mer_ lin seems to think that he's been cursed with bad luck. This morning we had a bit of a falling out – but it definitely wasn't  _my_ fault, Merlin's far too sensitive for his own good – when he tried to convince me that the woman we met in the forest that 'cursed' him was some sort of tree spirit." He snorted with laughter at the thought before becoming serious once more. "I'm almost positive Merlin went out looking for the woman."

Gwen's eyes widened, "But if she really  _does_  have magic, Merlin could be in real danger! In fact, he still could be, with that ankle of his."

Arthur growled. "That bloody imbecile will be the death of me." Smiling reassuringly at the serving girl in front of him, the prince added, "Don't worry about Merlin, Guinevere. I'll ride out immediately and find him. I know where he's at, remember – and besides, she doesn't have magic. He's fine."

Gwen could hear the doubt in his voice at his own words and frowned. "You think that Merlin might actually be cursed." It wasn't a question, but Arthur answered regardless.

"Of course not," he scoffed. Then he sighed. "Maybe… I don't know. I will admit, his fortune's been even more rotten than usual lately, but that doesn't mean anything. He's probably convinced himself that he's got bad luck and is causing all of this to happen subconsciously…" He trailed off.

"Or he really was cursed and he could be in even more danger out there alone," Gwen supplied softly, her deep brown eyes belaying the worry she was feeling for her best friend.

Arthur nodded once, his confliction showing in his eyes. "I'll find him and then he'll get the lecture of a lifetime about going off into the forest without telling anyone, especially whist injured." He curled his lips up in what was supposed to be a comforting smile but neither one of them fell for it. Without another word, Arthur had turned on his heel and swept down the hall with the intent of getting a horse and riding out to find Merlin – the sooner the better. Despite all the times he complained about Merlin being obnoxious and a lousy servant and a world-class idiot, Arthur would feel a hundred times better once Merlin was returned to Camelot, safe and sound.

* * *

Arthur had opted only to take two other knights with him. His father had been a bit exasperated at Arthur's determination to ride off into the Darkling Woods to find his missing servant but he wasn't completely heartless. Rolling his eyes and shaking his head, he told Arthur that he and a few knights had until nightfall to locate the boy and that he was to stay away from the borders of Cenred's kingdom as there would be almost certain conflict at the prince of Camelot crossing into Esticia, especially with the treaty as fragile as it was.

Arthur had agreed, still a bit surprised at his father's generosity but willing to go with it all the same. Ever since his talk with Guinevere he hadn't been able to shake the worry that Merlin was in serious trouble. He tried to brush it away, telling himself that he shouldn't even be worried about a servant at all, but in all honesty he was really starting to get a bit weary of that snotty little voice at the back of his mind. The fact was he  _was_  concerned about Merlin and he wouldn't be able to do anything to help him if he was constantly second guessing himself and trying to make himself believe that Merlin wasn't worth worrying about. Because maybe – just maybe, he mused with a slight smile on his face as he rode quickly through the woods with Sirs Leon and Owen on either side and slightly behind – the idiot  _was_ worth it, after all.

They rode silently at a steady pace until they were close to the house that Arthur was convinced Merlin had gone to. He hoped that the lady really was harmless and not some sort of ancient, powerful being like Merlin had seemed to think. He had convinced himself that  _that_  was the only way that Merlin would be in real danger – after all, bandits rarely came through the Darkling Woods this close to Camelot because they knew they'd be no match for a patrol of Camelot's knights.

He motioned for Leon and Owen to dismount and tie make sure their horses were tied off and they did so instantly. Arthur half-smirked, remembering Merlin's pathetic attempts to read hand signals. When he indicated for them to circle around and help close in the area as best as they could, the two knights obeyed without hesitation.

When the clearing and house came into view, Arthur felt his heart leap into his throat and his confidence that the little old lady that was so frail even Merlin could (probably) take her was the only threat began to fade away at the sight that greeted him. The ground in front of the house was trampled and indented with shapes that could have been made by a person pressing into the dirt – maybe even more than that. The bushes around the area were cracked and leaves and twigs were everywhere. The marks were several hours old at least, but they were still discernable. There had most certainly been a scuffle. His well-trained eyes scanned the ground and made out at least six, maybe even seven, large pairs of footprints and one smaller, slender pair. He was barely able to see them after the time they'd been there, but he had a keen eye. His heart sunk as he realized what this meant.

He caught movement and a flash of red out of the corner of his eye and he knew that Leon and Owen were still circling. Heaving a great sigh of frustration, Arthur turned and nearly let out a yell of surprise as he saw the little old woman from several weeks ago peering at him from a well-weathered face, her violet eyes unnerving. "Arthur Pendragon," she wheezed. "Looking for your servant, I presume?"

Eyes darting around to make sure Leon and Owen weren't about to burst in, Arthur walked forward several steps until he was almost within touching distance of the strange lady. He didn't know why, but he had a feeling that she only wanted to speak to him, not to his knights. He was afraid that she would leave if she saw the others and he didn't want her to – she might be the only one that knew anything about Merlin.

"Do you know where he is?" the prince asked in a forced calm voice.

"Mmm." She paused and leaned in closer. Arthur fought the urge to lean away. Something about this seemingly harmless old bird was distinctly unnerving. He began to seriously wonder if Merlin hadn't been right in his assumptions about her – that she had magic, of course, not the ridiculous notion that she was some kind of tree spirit. Arthur adamantly refused to believe that last bit. That was just a bit too far-fetched. She spoke again, her voice both mourning and elated. "A small band of slavers dragged him away nearly two hours ago."

Arthur literally saw red but he forced himself to remain calm for Merlin's sake. Teeth gritted and hands clenched together at his sides, he managed to hiss, "You just  _watched_  this happen and didn't lift a finger to help him? You  _let_  him be taken by  _slavers_?" He fought the urge to be sick. The idea of Merlin – clumsy, idiotic, friendly, and yes,  _cursed_  Merlin – being sold into slavery made his stomach turn and his blood boil. Almost as an afterthought he murmured, "What were bandits doing so close to Camelot? They wouldn't dare come here."

"Fortune is not smiling upon your servant these days, is it, Prince Arthur?"

"So you  _did_  curse him with bad luck.  _You_ caused this to happen?" He fought the urge to take a great leap at the hag that had caused Merlin so much trouble.

Her wrinkled face scrunched into a scowl. "I did nothing – when he broke the charm and released its magic, the spirit of the earth contained within it sought its revenge."

"He didn't mean to break it," Arthur almost pleaded. "And he came out here to find you – why didn't you help him?"

There was a rustle of branches nearby and he knew his knights would be here any second. The woman's eyes flickered to the trees around them before answering, "The only way that Merlin can break the curse is to prove himself worthy of having it broken. Only if someone other than himself comes to plead on his behalf will the magic even take into consideration that he might be worthy of being given the chance to attempt to have the curse lifted." It made no sense to Arthur and he was about to say so when the crack of a twig announced Leon and Owen entering the clearing. He turned to face them as they studied the disturbed ground before them with grim faces. Desperately, the prince turned back to the woman only to find her gone.

Eyes burning, Arthur snapped in the knights' general direction, "Merlin's been taken by bandits. Slavers." His voice was tight and clipped.

"Sire," Leon muttered. "Are you certain?"

"It could have been a many number of things," Sir Owen added.

"But if it  _is_  the case," Leon cut in, "might it not be wise to request a larger band of knights to track down the bandits?"

Arthur shook his head. "We have no time. Merlin doesn't have time – from the looks of things, they took him a few hours ago. We need to move while the trail is still relatively fresh. Leon, come with me. Owen, check the horses, make sure they are secure and comfortable, and then catch up to us – quickly. We'll go on foot so they won't hear us. Let's move."

Nearly an hour passed and the three men were following the trail at a steady pace. Arthur's eyes went wide as he heard a small sound, a little off the trail. Heart pounding, sure that a bandit was going to pop up at any moment, Arthur motioned for Leon and Owen to stay where they were and remain alert. He kept his eyes locked on the path ahead but unfortunately not right under his feet.

He let out a startled gasp as his foot collided with something solid and he was pitched face first into the soil, jarring his ribs as he did so. The two knights hurried forward to help him up but only Owen actually reached him. Leon stayed a few feet away, eyes locked on something on the ground. Slowly Arthur let his eyes drift to what he had tripped over and gasped even as it made a feeble attempt to move. Eyes wide and anger filling him to the brim, Arthur's vision was heated as he took in the sight of a bruised, battered man with torn clothes, a bag over his head, no shoes on his feet, and arms tied firmly behind his back. The form sprawled on the ground tried to move and let out a little whimper that was muffled by the bag and probably something jammed in his mouth as well. Falling to his knees beside the victim, Arthur could barely believe his eyes. When he spoke, he barely recognized his own voice amidst the fear and anger.

_"Merlin!"_


	12. Chapter 12

"Merlin!"

At the familiar voice, Merlin ceased his struggling and finally allowed himself to relax, sinking almost gratefully into the hard ground below him. He was hurting all over and he had just woke up when Arthur had tripped over him.  _And he says_ I'm _clumsy,_  he found himself griping mentally. _He tripped over a clumsy person… which means he's doubly clumsy. I'm never going to let him live this down._

His weary, fuzzy, and slightly giddy brain had no further time to contemplate this, however, for he felt hands on his shoulders, gently turning him over. Someone fiddled with the string that held the bag around his neck and he squeezed his eyes shut at the bright light of the sun that assaulted them – the light was nearly blinding after having been in darkness via the bag on his head for so long. He heard the sound of someone sucking in their breath and he squinted one eye open, then the other, realizing that the intensity of the sun had been blocked by the three people leaning over him. He wanted to thank Arthur for his fat head being in the way but he couldn't because of the wad of material jammed in his mouth. He settled for grunting loudly, effectively startling Arthur, Sir Leon, and Sir Owen out of their shock.

Leon quickly knelt behind the servant, helping him to a sitting position, although Merlin had to lean most of his weight against the knight's chest but Leon didn't seem to mind. He looked just as worried as Arthur and Owen although he wasn't sure why everyone looked so emotional. Especially Arthur – Merlin had rarely ever seen the prince this angry and he hoped to goodness this anger wasn't directed at him, although it very well could be, considering he had gone off by himself to find the dryad when he knew how dangerous it would be. After Leon had helped Merlin sit up, Arthur reached forward and tugged the cloth out of his servant's mouth.

Merlin let out an explosive breath, suddenly able to breathe  _much_  better, and moved his jaw around slowly. He'd had that gag in ever since the bandits had tried to take him and it had made his jaw stiff and sore. He noticed that Arthur and the knights were still staring at him and he ran his tongue over his aching teeth and cracked lips before deadpanning, "Fancy seeing you here."

Arthur stared at him and then started to laugh – a laugh that started out relieved but grew harsher. " _That's_ all you have to say, Merlin? Have you any idea what's been going on?"

Merlin's lips formed a tight line. "Well considering I've been knocked upside the head more times than I can count in the last few hours, I'd have to say that the details are still rather fuzzy."

Arthur cursed before crouching down in front of him and meeting his gaze. "Leon, untie him." Merlin immediately felt the knight's hands brush his own as they began to fumble with the knots that bound his wrists behind him. Merlin sighed in relief when the coarse ropes fell away, bringing his aching arms in front of him and rubbing his wrists with a sigh. "Thank you," he said seriously, making eye contact with all three of the men who had come to his rescue.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "Merlin – you are without doubt the most idiotic, stubborn man I've ever had the misfortune to meet." Merlin lowered his eyes, knowing a lecture was coming. Arthur sighed wearily before continuing, "Now let's get you back to Camelot."

Merlin's eyes snapped up to meet the prince's, surprised. Arthur half-smiled. "Oh, don't get your hopes up,  _Mer_ lin – you and I are going to have a  _long_  talk about your idiocy and apparent death wish, but that can wait until Gaius has patched you up – and I don't doubt that  _he'll_  have a few choice words to say to you, too." Merlin winced as he realized how worried Gaius must be.

"Can you stand?" Owen asked almost hesitantly.

Merlin smiled and began pushing himself up. "Of course I can sta—" He wobbled on his feet for all of two seconds before he pitched forward, Arthur catching him just in time. Merlin cried out as his ribs screamed in protest. His vision blurred as Arthur steadied him. He could hear voices and he focused on them. He had no idea what they were saying but he listened regardless. They were his lifeline, his way to stay conscious despite the pain. After a few minutes the fog cleared from his mind and he was able to make out what was going on again.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. "What the heck did they do to you, Merlin?"

Merlin shrugged, hissing as he did so from the pain. "I'm fine."

Arthur rolled his eyes, trying to conceal the worry in them but Merlin saw it anyway and was quite honestly touched (and a little caught off guard). "You are a  _terrible_  liar,  _Mer_ lin." He nodded at Leon and Owen. "Take his arms. Hold him up. I want to take a look at his injuries."

Merlin protested loudly as the two knights gently gripped his arms – his shoulders were positively screaming from being in the strained position for so long – and Arthur strode forward, pulling Merlin's shirt up. "Hey!" he shouted as the material was lifted. "There's a such thing as personal space, you prat! That  _can't_  be appropriate, you know!" Arthur ignored him, pulled the shirt up until the fabric was hiding Merlin's face. The warlock couldn't see the prince's reaction, but from the sharp breath he sucked in and the sympathetic murmurs of Leon and Owen, he knew it couldn't be good. He winced as he felt Arthur's chilly hand touch the injury but Arthur continued to poke and prod until Merlin was squirming in the knights' grip, barely containing small whimpers at the pain as tears sprang unbidden into his eyes.

Finally Arthur stopped and Merlin slumped, gasping from the pain, as Leon and Owen lowered him to the ground. When he finally caught his breath and pulled his shirt down the rest of the way, Merlin asked a stern-faced Arthur, "How bad is it?"

Arthur hesitated. "You'll live."

Merlin snorted. "Wow.  _Thank you_  for easing my all-consuming terror. Truly, I'd be lost without your wisdom."

"Shut up, Merlin." He thought for a moment before turning back to Leon and Owen. "Fetch your horses, ride back to the castle. Let Father know the mission was successful and that we'll be along shortly. And tell Gaius that he should have supplies on hand because Merlin's in a state, although assure him he'll be fine. As far as I can tell," he glared at Merlin as if all this was  _his_ fault (even if it kind of was), "A broken rib is the biggest worry." Merlin's eyes widened. He had broken a rib?  _Hmmm…_  he contemplated.  _Must've happened when the spell went wrong and they all flew_ at _me instead of_ away _from me. No wonder it hurts…_

"But Sire," Owen protested. "We cannot just leave you—"

"We'll be fine, Sir Owen. Please. You need to be in Camelot. Merlin, the state he's in, will only slow us down." He glanced at his injured servant. "He seems to have a habit of making everything as difficult as possible for himself and everyone else around him, isn't that right, _Mer_ lin?"

Before Merlin could retort with something snarky and witty, Leon cut in. "My lord, let Sir Owen or myself escort Merlin back to the castle. The men that attacked Merlin could still be around. You should get out of here as soon as possible."

"I appreciate your concern, Leon, but we'll be fine."

After another five minutes of encouragement, Leon and Owen finally left Merlin and Arthur begrudgingly. When they were gone, Merlin, who was cradling his abdomen with his arms, looked up at Arthur from where he sat on the forest floor. "Why were you trying so hard to get rid of them?"

Arthur reached down and gently pulled Merlin to his feet, wrapping the warlock's arm around his shoulder and allowing him to put most of his weight on Arthur. It was going to be a long journey back to the horses, especially with Merlin's broken rib, bruised body, and possible concussion. "Because," the prince responded, "we have something we have to do."

Merlin raised his eyebrows and sucked in his breath as they began to move. "And this 'something' would be…?"

Arthur grinned. "Why, we have to find a way to break your curse."

Merlin's reaction was beyond comical. He stopped short, mouth dropping open into a perfect 'O'. His eyebrows shot up so high that they could rival Gaius's and his eyes were round as saucers (and about as big as them, too!). Arthur snorted in laughter. "Planning on catching some flies?" he commented sarcastically, "because with your mouth open that wide, some are  _bound_  to fly in."

Merlin snapped his mouth shut before asking, "You actually  _believe_  me now?"

Arthur nodded slowly. "And I'm, well…" Merlin knew that he was struggling over apologizing (something Arthur rarely did) and Merlin's first inclination was to let him squirm a while because of all Merlin had gone through while Arthur blatantly refused to believe in the curse. With a painful stab from his ribs, however, he was reminded of just how much Arthur had done for him and decided to let him off the hook.

"I know. It's okay."

Arthur looked relieved, although Merlin couldn't be sure if it was relief at Merlin forgiving him or relief at not having to actually say "sorry." "Yeah. I mean, your luck is always bad, but  _this_  is ridiculous." He paused. "Also, I met the old woman."

"The dryad."

"Shut up, Merlin." He paused, collecting his thoughts as the two of them staggered forward another two steps – Merlin was a lot heavier than he looked! Finally he went on, "She said that someone must plead on your behalf that you are worthy to be lifted of the curse. And then you will be given a chance to do so."

Merlin's brow furrowed, thankful that the conversation was helping him take his mind off the pain. "A chance?"

"Mmm."

"That doesn't sound too encouraging."

"It's all we've got," Arthur reminded him.

Merlin frowned. "I know." He fell into silence as did Arthur for a little while. After a short time, though, the silence seemed to become even louder than words and Arthur spoke up.

"Alright,  _Mer_ lin, while we walk, you're going to talk."

Merlin chuckled. "Normally you tell me to shut up. But… ah… okay. What do you want to talk about?"

"You," Arthur said sternly, "are going to tell me just what happened to you after you were captured."

Merlin sighed. "It's a long story."

Arthur smirked. "Merlin, have you seen the pace you're going? Trust me, we have  _loads_  of time."

Merlin gave a little half-smile, his eyes far-off, before growing solemn once more and beginning to speak.


	13. Chapter 13

**_-Three Hours Earlier-_ **

_After the men had subdued Merlin, they pulled him to his feet but Merlin could barely stand and doubled over upon himself, his torso hurting terribly. Large hands gripped his elbows and began to steer him forward as he was forced to straighten up despite the pain and walk. He was desperate, had no idea what he was going to do or how to get out of this without causing himself even more bodily harm. He could use magic, of course – or could he? The longer the curse remained upon him, the more out of whack his magic seemed to become. He really didn't think he could trust it. Even so, if it came to a choice between risking his magic backfiring and being sold as a slave, there was no contest. He would_ not _be sold. Ever._

 _For now, though, he supposed that he could bide his time, hope that Arthur was looking for him (despite how much he despised depending on someone else for his rescue because he was anything but helpless). As it turned out, his bad luck ended up being what actually allowed him to be free of his captors. You see, as bad as his luck was when his arms were free and he could actually see where he was going, it was much, much worse when his hands were bound behind him and a bag over his head – not to mention that his ankle was_ really _starting to act up, which caused him to stumble periodically._

 _He had lost count of how many times he had tripped and fallen, most of the time managing to somehow pull the men holding his arms down with him. While that hadn't done anything to help his aching ribs, it_ had _made the bandits angry. He had actually received a kick or two in the side from them after the fifth time they all went down in a heap. And it seemed that his bad luck was beginning to rub off on the men that had taken him as well._

_They ran into trees. They tripped over rocks. One of them fell in a hole (Merlin was able to figure out relatively easily what was going on around him as the swearing, talking, yelling, and thumping/crashing of the bandits offered him valuable insight about what was happening outside of the bag over his head. Merlin, for his part, was just trying to get one foot in front of the other without collapsing and not doing the greatest job of it._

_He could hear agitated murmuring in the rare moments that he wasn't falling, tripping, sliding, spinning, or being kicked and deduced that the men were getting fed up with him._ Just great,  _he thought sarcastically._ And the bad luck gets worse – if they get too tired of me, they'll probably just kill me.

_As it was, the decision was made for him when he lost his footing and pitched forward, his arms wrenching out of his captors' hands as gravity called to him. Before he could completely take in what was happening he had hit the ground and was rolling and bouncing down a steep slope. The mossy ground didn't offer too much padding from the hard ground it grew upon and he hit a few trees and rocks on his way down. When he got to the bottom of the ravine, he simply lay still, head spinning and vision going black from a blow he had taken to the head, trying to catch his breath. That was when he heard them talking._

_"What d'ya think? He dead?"_

_"I dunno. Want to go and check?"_

_A snort of derision. "Right. 'Cause I really want that cursed brat to make me fall again."_

_"Shouldn't we get'im for Jarl? I mean, he's magic."_

_"Hardly. I say he's more trouble'n he's worth. Let him rot, if he's not dead already."_

_There was the sound of dark, humorless laughter before Merlin's probable concussion got the best of him and he drifted off into unconsciousness._

* * *

**Present**

"…and the next thing I remember was waking up to darkness. I was alone." Merlin paused. He had just related the whole story to Arthur (well, the "whole" thing minus anything that had to do with his magic, of course) and the prince, who was now supporting more of Merlin's weight than before, looked at him almost compassionately.

"Were you scared?"

Merlin shrugged and cursed himself. He should have realized the first time that he had done that – it was not a good idea. "Well, I wasn't exactly reassured at being tied up and not being able to see where I was in the middle of the forest." He grinned. "Of course, then some clumsy prat decided to trip over me."

Arthur growled good-naturedly. "Maybe I should have left that gag in your mouth."

Merlin pretended to be offended. "Well,  _excuse me_ , but weren't you the one who wanted me to talk, sire?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I wanted you to tell me what happened to you –  _not_  to be a cheeky idiot." He laughed. "Then again, I guess it's just second nature to you. Comes with the territory of being Merlin."

Merlin made a face. "Oh, please. This coming from the man that can't even recognize magic right when it's right under his nose." He knew Arthur thought he was talking about his refusal to acknowledge the curse and Merlin was to a certain extent. He was thinking more along the lines of how he'd been protecting Arthur for nearly two years now with magic and Arthur hadn't figured it out yet.

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "I thought I told you not to speak so lightly about magic, Merlin. If someone were to hear you…"

Merlin fought away the hurt feelings that tried to emerge and muttered, "I know, I know…"

"Besides," the prince continued briskly, "You have to admit that the idea of a curse is pretty out there."

Merlin quirked a dark eyebrow. "I don't  _have_  to admit anything. And it wasn't."

"Hmph." Arthur made an irritated but not angry sound and the two continued in silence, taking periodic breaks as Merlin found it hard to go on for long periods of time with his injuries. At long last the house came into view. Prince and servant exchanged wary glances before Arthur carefully helped Merlin sit up against a tree at the edge of the clearing before moving to the center of the area, right in front of the house. The lady was nowhere to be found.

Arthur glanced at Merlin, who had his head leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, eyes closed and a pained expression on his face. He felt a pang of guilt as he realized that maybe they should have gone back to Camelot first and let Merlin heal before going to the witch lady. Then again, he countered his own argument, as long as Merlin was cursed he'd be in constant danger of getting even more hurt. It was better for him – and Arthur's nerves – if they just got this over with now. Still, how was he going to plead on Merlin's behalf if the person he was supposed to be pleading  _to_  was nowhere to be found?

His question was answered for him as he felt the weight of a person's steady gaze burning into his back. He turned slowly, hand resting on the hilt of his sword as he faced the woman. "I see you found him," she croaked, observing the seated servant and his standing master for a few seconds respectively before turning all of her attention to Arthur. "Prince Arthur. Why do you seek me out again? What is it you wish of me?"

Arthur swallowed heavily. He wasn't one to  _plead_ for anything, especially to someone of magic, someone that had caused his servant to get hurt. But if he  _didn't_  convince her of Merlin's worth the idiot would remained cursed for as long as he lived (and considering his terrible luck lately, that wouldn't be too much longer if the curse stayed). He pushed back his pride and began to speak.

"I am here on the behalf of Merlin." He nodded in Merlin's direction and saw Merlin watching their correspondence silently from his place against the tree.

"I see." Arthur wasn't sure if he should be put off or encouraged by her apparent lack of interest and emotion but plowed forward regardless.

"Yes – er – he didn't mean to break your charm. Merlin would never do anything like that intentionally. It was an accident. I'm asking you to please remove the curse on him."

The old lady regarded Arthur through heavily lidded eyes for a long moment before coming to a decision. "No."

Arthur felt heat of anger rise up in him. " _No?_ " He could see Merlin shifting uncomfortably in his peripheral vision.

"Yes."

Hope flared up in Arthur. "Yes? You'll do it?"

The woman sighed. "No.  _Yes_ , no is my answer."

Arthur fought back his rage. " _Why not_?" he demanded hotly. Perhaps he wasn't doing such a good job of fighting it back. He found that he didn't quite care about that at the moment, though.

She locked eyes with him. "Your words do not suggest that he is someone worth lifting the curse from."

"Fine," Arthur snapped. "He's a great man, will never forget this favor, will never do you wrong again, and he has got to be the gentlest person I've ever met. He's always helping people and he doesn't deserve this." He paused, having said all of that in a great rush hoping that there was something in there that the old woman would identify with. Apparently not.

"No."

Arthur finally just let loose his anger. "Then you are no better than a common criminal! Merlin's been tearing himself apart because of breaking your trinket ever since it happened. He regrets ever doing so – he was afraid that he'd done some damage to you. He's suffering and I don't know what to do – you're his only hope and now you're going to turn him away because of a petty grudge? Merlin  _is_  a good man and he  _does_ deserve to have this curse lifted!" Eyes flashing, Arthur stepped closer to the woman and stood nose to nose with her. "I won't stop until I've found a way to break the curse. Merlin's not going to carry this with him the rest of his life." He didn't even hesitate as he spoke the thought that had been frothing around in his head for a while now but that he was loathe to admit – until now. Later, he'd deny he ever said it, but say it he did as he leaned in even closer and their noses actually touched. "He's my friend."

Suddenly the woman stepped back and her face split into a smile. " _That_  was what I wanted to hear, Prince Arthur. What you truly felt, not what you thought I wanted to hear."

Arthur was stunned. That had actually worked? He hadn't even been thinking about it – he had just said what was on his mind.  _Well,_  he thought wryly as he reflected on the woman's words,  _I suppose that's the point_.

"So you'll lift the curse?"

"He will be given a chance to have his curse lifted," the lady both confirmed and corrected. "You have convinced me that he is worthy to try and prove his worth."

Arthur scratched his head and grumbled, "This is getting ridiculous."

"Nevertheless," she countered, "he must go through with this or the curse will never be lifted. It is the way of the earth's vengeful magic that he released. Merlin," she changed who she was talking to, purple eyes connecting with Merlin's pain-glazed blue ones. "Come here."

"He's injured," Arthur interjected but shut up when the woman shot him an annoyed glance. Slowly Merlin rose to his feet, clutching his chest and limping precariously over to the other two. He stopped and looked between them.

"What's going on? Is the curse going to be lifted?"

" _If_  you can pass a series of three tests to prove your worth." Arthur fought back a groan of despair.  _It's going to be the unicorn all over again, isn't it?_

Merlin narrowed his eyes. "What kind of tests? And will Camelot suffer if I fail one of them?" Apparently Merlin was thinking along the same lines as Arthur.

The woman laughed harshly, her chortles sounding more like she was coughing up phlegm. "This has nothing to do with Camelot, Merlin. This has to do with you. And the tests are for you and you alone to know and take."

"When?" Arthur cut in, not liking the way that Merlin and the woman were all but ignoring him now in their conversation. The lady didn't answer. Merlin repeated the question.

"Now," she wheezed. Arthur and Merlin's eyes widened as they heard this. "Do you accept the challenge?"

Suddenly Arthur got a very bad feeling about all of this. Maybe there was another way to break the curse. Surely these tests could be avoided somehow. Merlin didn't need to risk his life to lift the spell – they could figure something else out, surely. He opened his mouth to suggest this to Merlin, but Merlin had already beaten him.

"I do."

Suddenly a thick fog began to wisp in from the surrounding forest. Arthur reached out to touch it hesitantly and was surprised to find that it was fairly solid. His eyes widened as the smoky substance began to wind around Merlin, starting at his ankles and snaking up around his body, binding his arms to his sides, caressing his neck, filling his mouth and his nose as he choked, eyes frightened but resigned, and then Arthur couldn't see Merlin at all amidst the cloudy cocoon. "Merlin!" he yelled. "Merlin!" There was no answer.

Without warning, the fog disappeared just as suddenly as it had appeared. When it had receded, Arthur could only stand and stare as his eyes roved wildly around the clearing.

He was alone.

 


	14. Chapter 14

When Merlin opened his eyes he was in darkness so intense that he wasn't sure if he had indeed opened his eyes or not. He blinked, confirming that his eyes were open, and then sat up. He waited to see if his eyes would adjust to the oppressing blackness but they didn't. The uneasy knot in his chest grew with each second that passed. The last thing he remembered was accepting the dryad's challenge and the fog creeping in from the surrounding forest, binding him, obscuring his vision, pouring into his mouth and choking him. Subconsciously, he brought his hand to his throat as he remembered the suffocating feeling of being taken by the fog. He hadn't been able to move, to breathe… and then he had been overwhelmed by darkness.

A darkness, it seemed, that wasn't going to go away even when he woke up, if he was actually awake. He supposed that this could be a dream but somehow he doubted it. The chilly, damp air was too cold on his skin; the rough, damp rock he was leaning against was too solid, to firm, to be a figment of his imagination. He stood up slowly, carefully, his ankle throbbing and wounds still smarting. He held his arms out in front of him as he tried to feel his way around the area that he was in. He began to panic as his outstretched hands found hard, dripping walls within arm distance on every side. His eyes glowed gold as he tried to make light appear. Nothing happened.

 _Your magic will only work when the tests have begun._  The voice was that of the old lady – the dryad – in the forest. Merlin didn't know if the voice had spoken aloud or if it was just echoing about in his head. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure that he had heard it at all. He was still disoriented from being swept from the middle of the forest with Arthur to this dark, tiny, magic-less hole. He glanced around nervously, but no light or indication of movement of any sort was made known. Swallowing thickly, he managed to respond to the voice that he may or may not have heard.

"Where am I? What are the tests? What's going on? Where's Arthur?"

The woman's voice chuckled eerily around him and the darkness pressed relentlessly around him. This time, when she spoke, he physically heard her voice, confirming that it was real – if, indeed, any of this was actually  _real_  – although it still seemed to come from every direction. "Patience is a virtue that the Earth values greatly. You must learn to wield it if you are to pass the tests that lie before you. As for your questions, you are in my fortress. The Earth's fortress. My Mother's home.  _Your_ home."

Merlin frowned. He knew this woman's – or rather, this dryad's – type. She was like the Great Dragon, like Amphora the Keeper of the Unicorns, the kind of person who loved speaking in riddles and leaving those in her wake even more more confused than they were before. It was extremely exhausting trying to deal with this type of person – creature, whatever – and Merlin wondered if he should have just been content with the curse on him. After all, he had little patience for cryptic warnings (as the dragon had found out plenty of times) and if patience was going to be a virtue that would be judged… he might not pass anyway.

Almost as if sensing his thoughts – or maybe she truly was; Merlin wouldn't put it past her – the dryad said, "Patience, young one." Merlin rolled his eyes at the patronizing way she spoke to him but didn't respond. "You are in a place that is full of darkness and light, hatred and love, fear and courage. A place of opposites. A place where one extreme must surely overcome another. Because you unleashed the curse upon yourself when you broke my pendant, you must prove which extremes are prevalent over the others. And only then can you hope to prove your worth and break your curse."

Merlin frowned. "And the tests – what will happen if I fail one?"

The withered voice of the old tree spirit grew harsh and ominous and the darkness surrounding him seemed to grow thicker, more deadly, with every word. "Then I am afraid the magic of the curse will consume you. You chose this path, to try and end your curse, and the consequences could be dangerous if you are not pure of heart." Her voice faded away before she spoke on more time. "If you fail these tests, then I'm afraid the ancient magic of the earth will not allow you to leave this place. You will be lost within her grasp, and you will be stranded here… forever."

* * *

Arthur had no idea what to do. Merlin had been taken away in the mist and he hadn't seen him since. He had been standing in the same spot for nearly half an hour, pacing around the clearing a bit, waiting, watching for anything, any sign or clue as to where Merlin had been spirited away to or even the sound of his idiotic manservant bumbling through te forest before crashing into the clearing. He knew the latter wasn't likely but still he found his head whipping to meet every crack of a twig or brush of a leaf in the woods surrounding him.

He was worried; there was no point in denying it. He didn't think that there was anything wrong with being concerned about his manservant by this point anyway. For heaven's sake, he had just watched Merlin be cocooned in fog and magicked away to who knows where and he had been left with absolutely nothing. No indication of what kind of tests Merlin might be being forced to take. No idea where he had been taken to or if he was ever coming back. He had no idea if he should stay here and wait for Merlin's return, or how long to wait, nothing.

At least when he had been tested after killing the unicorn to prove his worth, his tests had been immersed in his daily life. He hadn't been taken anywhere special, save for the Labyrinth of Gedref and even then he had been given the option of whether or not he chose to go there. Merlin had been, quite literally, swept away. Sure, he had accepted the challenge but Arthur didn't believe that the servant had had any idea that he'd be "poofed" away when he did so. If he _had_  had some idea of what was to come, then the idiot had a greater lack of self-preservation than his master currently gave him credit for – which wasn't much to begin with.

An irritated growl forming in his throat, Arthur forced himself to decide on a course of action. One thing was certain: if he stayed here and twiddled his thumbs he wouldn't do Merlin any good. He knew what he had to do although he had no idea how to even begin to go about it.

He was going to have to go after Merlin.

* * *

The darkness finally melted away.

Merlin was grateful. He didn't like the dark. He wasn't afraid of it, although he had been when he was a child (which was why his exasperated mother would often find a soft, radiant blue light hovering just above his head in the middle of the night as an infant, the product of his instinctive magic), but even so the penetrating blackness that had surrounded him had been unnerving to say the least. And just because he wasn't  _afraid_  of the dark didn't mean he  _liked_  it. The dark was where nightmares lurked. Where death haunted the shadows and uncertainty did its bidding. Darkness meant loneliness. You could see no one in the dark. They could not see you. This meant that the dark was a barrier that kept people apart. Made them be alone.

And Merlin  _hated_  being alone.

He was now standing in a forest. It wasn't the Darkling Woods or the Forest of Asiter. It was like no wood he had ever set foot in and he would probably never get the opportunity to be in a place like this ever again. It was magical. And not just magical because it was breathtakingly beautiful – which it was,  _oh_ , it most certainly was – not because of the way that the trees reached higher than any he had ever stood amongst, reaching above the clouds so their tips were not even visible, or because the grass beneath his feet smelled of rich soil and growth and the air was the cleanest, most fragrant his lungs had ever breathed. The place was seriously, honest-to-goodness, _magical._

Merlin could feel it all around him, seeping into his body from the air, the carpet of sweet smelling grass under his bare feet (he still wasn't sure why the bandits had felt a need to steal his shoes when they had left him to die, but now with the silky grass caressing the soles of his feet he found he didn't mind so much anymore). It wasn't a tingle that alerted him to magic nearby or even a heart stopping jolt that warned him that a powerful artifact was in the vicinity. It was all around him; the air was positively  _humming_  with power, the same power, he realized, as that he had sensed in the dryad's charm except this was much, much more powerful. It was raw, real, and thrumming with life, with death, with chance, with fate, with laughter, with tears, with everything that made up life.

And it was quiet. Oh-so-quiet. He had never encountered a place with such a distinct lack of sound. Birds did not call out to each other from the unseen branches of the giant trees. There were no sounds of squirrels chattering or scurrying and not even the miniscule whisper of a butterfly's wing touching the air reached Merlin's ears. It was so quiet, so peaceful. So still. Nothing moved. Perhaps if he watched, listened, long enough he could hear the grass grow. See it reach toward the cloud-obscured heavens.

That  _would_  be lovely, wouldn't it? He let a lazy smile tug at his lips as he glanced around him, taking in the life and beauty around him. He could stay here forever. In fact, he couldn't think of a reason why he shouldn't.

After all, the pain was gone.

It wasn't until after he thought it that he realized that it was true. The pain that had been throbbing through his broken rib, stretched shoulders, bloody wrists, and twisted ankle had melted away with the darkness. He absently pulled his shirt up, mildly curious as to whether he had been healed or not.

He hadn't.

A deep purple and blackening bruise, swollen and excruciatingly painful to behold, colored his torso. He pressed against the part of his chest that was the most tender looking and felt the broken rib give a little. No, he was still injured. And that – what he just did, pressing the wound – should have probably hurt a  _lot_  more than it had. It hadn't hurt at all. Merlin felt almost giddy. He could stay here forever! It was so peaceful, so painless…

His eyes roved around and he noticed a glassy pool of water between two of the largest trees in this virgin forest. The water was black, not exactly sinister, but not necessarily inviting, either. He knew what the water was. It was magical – if he stepped into the pool, he'd be taken away from here. Away from this paradise.

But he didn't  _want_ to leave.

Did he?

He thought hard for a moment, which was a feat within itself considering how the magic of this dreamscape seemed to numb his mind, make him feel like he was floating on air. Did he really want to stay here? Was there perhaps something that he would miss if he decided to stay here forever?

_Idiot._

The voice leaked into his mind unbidden and he nearly jumped as it echoed around in there. Recognition flooded through him as his subconscious struggled to remind him of something that his half-sedated mind had already seemed to have forgotten. Arthur. The prat. His destiny. His _friend._

Other images creeped into the open. An old man in robes, mixing potions, looking at Merlin from beneath an incredibly arched eyebrow. A beautiful woman with skin the color of coffee and eyes that always showed compassion, a heart of gold. Another woman, equally as beautiful, olive eyes, red lips, cream skin, black hair cascading in ribbons of silk down her back…

His friends.

He couldn't leave them. He had to press forward, keep moving on. He couldn't stay here, no matter how blissful the idea might sound. No matter how much he wanted to, more than anything. He had a purpose for being here, didn't he? He had to lift the curse. Prove his worth. Get back to Arthur and continue to save his royal behind until kingdom come – literally, as he was awaiting the time of the Once and Future King and the kingdom of Albion to come.

The reminders of what was at stake jarred him into some form of reality, just barely, but enough to get him moving again. He knew that he couldn't stay. His mind drifted to his injuries. Just because he couldn't feel them didn't mean they weren't there. If he couldn't feel pain, then it was fully possible that he could get worse and worse, or hurt himself even more and not even know it because there would be no pain, no indication of his afflictions. He could die here and not even know it.

He stumbled forward, surging toward the pool, heart pounding with adrenaline as he realized what he was about to do. He was going to jump into an unknown magical portal, fling himself across time and space to who knows where. He was going to leave this paradise and throw himself into reality. The pain would come again. Hurt and sorrow would be back. He would be afraid. He would cry, laugh, and  _feel_. Feel things that he didn't want to feel anymore. That he wouldn't have to feel here.

On second thought, maybe he  _should_  stay here.

 _No._ Mer _lin, you_ idiot _, stop being so selfish! You are not going to cower from reality in this mystical forest – you're more stubborn than that, idiot. Now get moving._

Merlin's subconscious, which seemed to have adopted his master's prattish yet affectionate mannerisms and voice, spurred him into motion again. His "inner Arthur" was right. He had to break away from the enchantment that was ensnaring his mind. He wasn't going to give up. He was going to press forward.

_That's it, idiot, don't be such a girl's petticoat._

"Prat," Merlin felt himself whisper to the prince that wasn't there. Then, before he lost his nerve, he flung himself forward, headfirst, into the inky black waters of uncertainty.

There was no going back now.

 


	15. Chapter 15

If there was anything worse than knowing that something bad had happened to someone close to you, it was  _not_  knowing what was happening to someone close to you. This was something Arthur had realized very early in life and that was being reinforced at this very moment as he prepared to try and find his missing servant. As much as he loathed to admit it, Arthur  _did_  care about the idiot, and after seeing the younger man being spirited away by an eerie conjured mist, he was more than a little worried.

After making the decision to go after him, Arthur had realized that he had absolutely  _no_  idea which way to go or even where to start. Merlin had been taken away by magic, simply whisked away, and he could be anywhere by now. Heck, he could be halfway across the world. And Arthur didn't have a clue how to begin.

Now he was torn – part of him wanted to go crashing through the forest, searching for the servant and not leaving until he found him and dragged his trouble-attracting backside back to Camelot. Another part told him that he needed to stay put, wait out the tests, and be there for Merlin when he was returned and then give him a lecture on  _not_  being a clumsy, annoying, troublesome nincompoop. Still another part of him, the part that was currently winning him over, said that he needed to get back to Camelot so his father wouldn't get worried and send out a search party – and so he could talk to Gaius, do some research, and hopefully find more concrete information on these "dryads" and what kind of tests Merlin would be taking, not to mention any indication of how and where to find him.

He sighed heavily, not wanting to feel like he was abandoning his servant – an idiot who couldn't defend himself in the best of times, let alone while cursed and at the mercy of a crazy old tree-lady – but knowing that he needed to get back to Camelot. Not only would his father get worried, but the king knew that Arthur had gone out after his servant. His father had very little tolerance for the boy already, but if Arthur didn't come back when he was supposed to have been, it was very likely that Uther would take his irritation out on Merlin and that was the last thing that he needed. As he began to prepare himself for the journey back home, it hit him.

How could he not have thought of this before?

He  _would_  go back to Camelot but first he wanted to check something out; see if there were any clues as to where Merlin could have been taken. Shoulders squared, stomach twisted into knots, the prince of Camelot turned on his heel and walked into the old woman's mysterious house – the house that started it all – and, taking a deep breath, went inside.

* * *

The first thing that Merlin was aware of was the pain.

He groaned as his eyes fluttered open and he resisted the nearly overwhelming urge to shut them again and sink into welcome oblivion. His head was throbbing, fire running up and down his hurt leg, his stomach churning with each shaky, unsteady breath, and his broken rib was making his chest feel like it was caving in on him. Tears blurred his still-adjusting vision and he just wanted to get out of this stupid test, wanted all of this to be a dream, he just wanted to go  _home_.

That's when he heard it. A voice – an oh-so-familiar voice at that – calling his name. "Merlin!"

His heart thumped against his chest and he jerked his head up, eyes wide, ignoring the pain coursing through his body.

"Mother?"

* * *

The old lady's house wasn't actually a house at all.

Sure, it  _looked_  like a house from the outside. It was small, square, four walls, a roof, doors, windows, chimney – at least from an outsider's perspective. Arthur had expected a little hovel-like existence on the interior as well, but was he ever wrong. His jaw literally dropped and his mouth flew open at the sight that greeted him behind the door of the shack. He found himself stepping forward, stunned beyond all measure, as his eyes roved over the vast, seemingly endless forest that stretched as far as the eye could see. A forest, he realized, baffled, that was somehow all inside of the little house.

Magic.

Somehow, he wasn't surprised.

There was an ominous groan and then a large rapping sound as the door slammed shut behind him, apparently of its own accord. He spun toward it, heart pounding, and gasped.

The door was gone.

He turned back around – slowly this time – and looked at the forest he was in. It was not unlike the one he had just come out of although it was definitely not the same one. This one had an older, richer feel to it. And something distinctly… magical permeating through the canopy of the trees and the boughs and trunks and flowers and grass.

He swallowed heavily, a surprisingly steady hand gripping the hilt of his sword, ready to unsheathe it at a moment's notice. Taking a deep breath through his nose, Arthur began to walk. Like it or not, there was only one way to go now – and that was forward.

And maybe – just maybe – he would happen to run into a certain idiotic servant along the way.


	16. Chapter 16

Merlin had no idea why or how he was back in Ealdor, but he wasn't going to question it. He was hurting and tired and just hearing his mother's voice had done him a world of good. "Merlin!" his mother yelled again, but this time there was an edge to her voice. Now that he thought about it, perhaps there had been a note of anxiety to her tone the first time she had called his name, too. That was to be expected, he decided, because he  _had_  just appeared out of nowhere, semi-conscious. She was bound to be worried.

He didn't like his mother to be worried, though, so he struggled to his feet, gasping as his broken rib was jarred by the movement. "Merlin, run!"

Merlin's head snapped over to see his mother being held by several of Camelot's guards. Her face was pale and ashen, her eyes terrified… so scared.

"You have been harboring a sorcerer," one of the guards said sternly, "and now you will pay for it with your life."

Merlin yelled, running forward madly despite the pain, and lunged for the guard… but he never made contact with the man who was about to run his mother through.

Instead, he found himself somewhere completely different. He wasn't in Ealdor anymore. He was in Camelot, but something was wrong.  _Very wrong._  There were screams, howls of torment, explosions, fires breaking out everywhere. He stood in the courtyard and watched, frozen, as Camelot began to crumble to the ground, stone by stone. People were running about frantically, trying to get to safety from the attacking army. There were so many enemies converging on the citadel, slaughtering all who got in their way.

"No," he breathed. "No…"

"Happy, Merlin?" a familiar voice said. He spun to see Morgana standing in the middle of the courtyard, a great wind flowing from her fingertips, destroying and killing and hurting. "This is all  _your_ doing."

Merlin's breath caught in his throat. No… no he wasn't doing this… he had only just arrived to this terrible scene. Tears gathered up in his eyes at the devastation Morgana's magic was causing.

"Morgana, please, you don't have to do this!"

"Oh but I do," Morgana assured him icily. "You see, Merlin, after you  _refused_  to tell me the truth about my magic, about  _your_  magic, I was left floundering, struggling to find my way all by myself. And you know what I realized, Merlin? I realized that the only way to survive in Uther's Camelot is to  _destroy_  Uther's Camelot. So you see, Merlin, this really  _is_  all your fault. If you had been honest with me, had tried to help me, instead of cowering behind your powers, this never would have happened."

Merlin found that he had no answer to that. This was something he was terrified of, something that he always wondered about, regretted. He hadn't told Morgana about his magic, hadn't offered to help her even though he knew she was scared. He hadn't told her because both Gaius and the dragon had warned him against it. The dragon… the dragon had said that she was a witch, that she had darkness in her heart… and  _he_ had brought it out by refusing to help her? He couldn't handle this, it was too much, too much… his darkest nightmares were coming true right before his eyes… and there was nothing he could do about it.

* * *

Arthur had been traveling for at least an hour and the forest he was in had not changed in the slightest. Yes, the trees were different – he  _thought_ , although he could have sworn he had seen that same knot on the trunk of that scraggly tree a hundred times by now – but the feel, the atmosphere, the very  _presence_  of the forest was eerily the same. He had not relinquished his grip on his sword.

He was starting to get worried.

No, that wasn't even remotely the truth. He had  _started_  to get worried when Merlin had been whisked away by a strange tree-spirit by a magical fog. Now his nerves were completely on edge. It seemed that no matter how far he went in this blasted forest, he never gained any ground. Everything looked the same and it was more than tiring. If he saw another rock that was sort of shaped like his father's head, he'd go mad, he knew it. He needed something new, something different, something that wasn't this eerily quiet and totally unnerving forest within a house.

 _This house,_  he groused in his head,  _is_ much _bigger on the inside_.

He kept walking.

* * *

Merlin had been swept away from Morgana's Camelot – thank heavens – but the sight that greeted him now was no better. He was still in Camelot, this time in Arthur's chambers. Arthur was nowhere to be found. Merlin wasn't sure what was going on but he still hurt and he was scared. He couldn't quite remember how he had gotten here or where he had gotten all of his aches and pains. All he knew was that his head was spinning and that he had a terrible feeling in his gut that something bad was just around the corner.

Was he ever right.

A terrible roar cut through the air, almost shaking the castle from its magnitude. No wait… the roar wasn't shaking the castle… it was the giant, winged beast that was attacking it. The dragon!

Merlin raced out of Arthur's room as fast as he could, barely paying any attention to his sore, stiff body. He ran down the corridors as fast as his burning legs could take him, not stopping until he was back in the courtyard. The Great Dragon was attacking Camelot!

"No!" he yelled fiercely. " _No!_ You have to stop this!  _Why are you doing this?_ "

The dragon smiled – he actually  _smiled!_  – and said, "Why, Merlin, isn't it obvious? I'm doing this… because  _you_  set me free."

"No," Merlin all but whimpered, his mind filled with dread and doubt and shadows. He hadn't meant for this to happen. And  _had_  he let the dragon out? He certainly couldn't remember doing that, and setting free a great homicidal reptile was surely something that would stick in one's memory, wasn't it? He remembered agreeing to let him loose in order to get the knowledge to save Camelot from Sigan's murderous hands. But had he actually gone through with it?

He looked back to the smoke-filled sky and coughed as it filled his lungs.

The nightmare just kept getting worse.

* * *

Finally, something changed! Arthur sighed with relief as he saw a door. It would later strike him that he wasn't surprised to see a lone wooden door standing in the middle of the woods, attached to nothing but the air. At the moment, he could care less that this door being in the middle of the forest defied all laws of logic or that magic was most definitely being used. For heaven's sake, he was in a tiny little house right now! Well, a tiny little house that was a lot bigger on the inside.

He was just  _so_  glad to see a change in pace. He was getting sick of the same monotonous view of tree, rock, tree, tree, bush, rock, tree, rock, tree, tree, bush, rock, tree, rock – well, suffice it to say that the door was a relief.

Without a second thought, he flung the door open (how  _does_  one open a door that is suspended in the middle of nowhere?) and stepped inside.

He was in another forest, but this one was much more peaceful. It was so serene, so beautiful, and there was a lovely little black pond just a few yards away…

Arthur wondered if he should stay here for a little while, maybe take a nap.

 _No,_  a voice said sternly.  _You've got to go, prat! Go find Merlin, you egotistical dollop head – that_ is  _what you came here for, isn't it?_

Arthur blinked, not at all happy with the idea that some essence of Merlin was apparently inside of his head. But the words that had just popped up so suddenly did the trick. He was shrugged out of his mild stupor and without hesitation he jumped into the black pool. Somehow he knew it was the way out of this peaceful paradise.

He was right.

* * *

He had never been so terrified in his life.

Merlin was standing in the middle of a field and a battle was raging on around him. The smell of blood and cries of death permeated the air. It was a gruesome, terrible fight. But the worst was yet to come.

He watched numbly as a small figure approached Arthur – Merlin's master, his prince, his  _friend_ – who was fighting furiously, and stretched out a hand, using powerful magic to send Arthur flying back several feet. Merlin tried to run forward, to go to Arthur's aid, but he couldn't move. He couldn't even turn away, could not so much as blink.

The figure pulled back its hood and there stood a small, all-too-familiar boy, intense blue eyes gazing at Arthur with an expression of total malice. Merlin would have shuddered at the sinister glare coming from that child had he not been confined in stillness.

Mordred smirked evilly and held out his hand, a sword appearing in the small fingers. Merlin wanted to scream, to attack, to do  _something_  to help Arthur… but he couldn't. He watched, heart beating against his injured ribs as if trying to break free of its prison.

 _No, no, no… this is_ not _happening._

But it was. Merlin watched helplessly as Mordred plunged the glowing sword into Arthur's chest before simply melting into thin air, his terrible deed completed.

"NOOO!" All at once he broke free from the restraining hold, tearing across the field to Arthur's side. "No, please, no, don't die, you  _can't_  die," he muttered as he pulled Arthur's head into his lap.

"Merlin…" the dying Arthur said. "This is… all… your… fault."

Merlin thought his world was going to collapse on him. "Arthur, what?"

"You… knew… and yet… you let my…k-killer g-go… free…"

"Arthur, I'm so sorry, I didn't know what to do, he seemed like an innocent little Druid boy at the time and–"

"Traitor," Arthur hissed with his last breath. " _Sorcerer_."

Then he died.

Everything faded to black. Merlin was suspended in nothingness, being compressed and pulled in all different directions at the same time. He had never felt such an onslaught of awful emotions all at once. Fear, pity, betrayal, anger, grief, worry, panic, terror, horror, anxiety, darkness consuming him, tearing at him…

 _Merlin_.

Someone was trying to pull him out of this darkness.

_Merlin._

Someone wanted to save him from this nightmare.

_Merlin._

Nightmare? That's all this was, wasn't it?

_Merlin._

His deepest fears, the darkest corners of his mind.

_Merlin._

This wasn't real.

_Merlin._

This wasn't  _real!_

His eyes snapped open and he gasped in as much air as he could take. It had all been just a big nightmare. He had been stuck in his own mind… that… that must have been the second test. He had overcome the darkness and fear in himself... but he had had help... hadn't he?

"Merlin!"

His eyes adjusted to the newly found light and he realized that someone was standing directly over him, looking down at him with a concerned and intense expression on their face. Relief and disbelief filled him as he stared up at the voice that had first called him out of his haunted mind.

"Arthur?"

Before the prince could answer, the eerie voice of the old dryad filled the air of whatever forest the newly reunited Merlin and Arthur were now in.

"Very good… but now, it is time for the third and final test."

Arthur helped Merlin get to his feet shakily, mindful of his servant's injuries. Merlin's mind was whirling. How had Arthur found him, anyway? Where were they? And what was the final test?

He took a deep breath, ready to get this over with. He could find out more about Arthur's adventure later. But for now, it was time to end this.

"I'm ready," he declared in a voice much stronger than he felt.

The disembodied voice of the dryad cackled. "We shall see," she said darkly. "We shall see."

 


	17. Chapter 17

"Merlin, are you alright?" Arthur asked in a hasty whisper as the dryad's voice stopped speaking and the new forest grew eerily quiet. He was tensed, ready for action, but so far nothing had happened and he wanted to make sure that Merlin was not harmed any more than he had already been when he had been taken away. He looked in his servant's weary eyes and saw a strange lack of light in those blue depths – like something unpleasant was going around in his head over and over again.

He remembered how terrifying his discovery of Merlin had been. He had dove into the strange black pool, only to open his eyes after what seemed like seconds to another forest, the one he was in now. Merlin had been lying on the ground, eyes screwed shut so tightly that his whole face was turning red. He was muttering in his – or was he even asleep? –  _sleep_ , although Arthur thought that he looked more like he was immersed in the middle of a living nightmare as he twitched and gasped and twisted and yelling incoherent words. His ramblings sounded like a jumbled mess and tears were rolling down his face.

Arthur had fallen to his knees beside his servant, a wave of pure fear washing through him – although he would vehemently deny it later – as he saw the state Merlin was in. He instantly strove to wake Merlin, afraid to touch him because of his injuries, so he just called the boy's name again and again, louder each time. His voice was much too loud in the silent forest but he didn't care. Merlin wasn't with him; his mind was somewhere else. "What did she do to you?" Arthur found himself muttering to the unconscious Merlin at one point before trying to drag him back to reality with his name once more.

Just when Arthur was starting to fear that there was no hope, that Merlin was gone, that he had failed the test – or rather that Arthur had failed to get to Merlin in time to help him pass the test – just when he thought that hope was lost, Merlin's eyes snapped open. Relief had filled him despite the apprehension as the boy's cerulean eyes locked onto his and he stammered out, "Arthur?"

Now they were standing side by side in the middle of this strange wood, the old woman's voice having just faded away. Silence once again reigned and it was pressing in on all sides. Arthur had broken it with his query on how Merlin was doing but even still the pressing stillness around them was growing increasingly unnerving.

Merlin shook his head slightly as if trying to dislodge some disturbing thought and winced as the movement jarred his head. Arthur remembered that Merlin had been knocked unconscious by his fall after he had been kidnapped by the slave traders and once again hoped that the servant didn't have a concussion.

Merlin broke him out of his worried thoughts (no, not  _worried_ , he quickly corrected himself, _mildly… concerned_ ) as he responded, "Yeah. I'm… fine." Arthur didn't miss the way he hesitated and he saw that the haunted expression was still on Merlin's face.

Arthur was going to just leave it at that but he was curious and also wanted to make sure that Merlin hadn't been harmed in any way. Physically, he looked about the same as he had the last time Arthur had seen him (which, in actuality, wasn't all that great to begin with), but Arthur knew, if only from the nightmare Merlin had been in the throes of when he had found him, that the tests had taken a toll on him mentally. "What happened?" the prince asked, his voice  _far_  too caring for his liking. He cleared his throat in an attempt to cover up his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

Merlin chuckled softly, humorlessly, and glanced at the ground, the sky, the trees,  _anywhere_  but Arthur's eyes. "Nothing," he lied.

Arthur snorted. Merlin was such a terrible liar – that half-brained idiot couldn't keep a secret to save his life. " _Mer_ lin," he said patronizingly and was pleased to see a ghost of a smile tug at his servant's lips, "you were lying on the ground _, writhing_ , when I found you." That wiped the smile clean off his face. Arthur wondered if perhaps he shouldn't have spoken. Now that he had, however, he saw no reason not to pursue his line of questioning. Merlin would ultimately only serve to make things worse for himself if he kept everything inside.

Arthur knew this from experience because he was the  _expert_  at keeping his feelings and fears to himself. He hadn't been able to express them to anyone who cared enough to listen to  _him_  and not his title – at least not until Merlin came along. And still Arthur kept things to himself, but much less than he had before Merlin had become a key part in his life. Merlin had given him someone to open up to and now he needed to be there for Merlin when he was so obviously distressed.

"What did that witch do to you?"

Merlin rolled his eyes, looking a little more like his old self. "I told you, Arthur – she's not a witch. She's a dryad."

Arthur made a face and waved a hand impatiently. "What's the difference?"

"Well—" Merlin began, a cheeky grin starting to spread over his face although his eyes were still far away.

Arthur cut him off. " _Mer_ lin. As  _riveting_  as I'm sure your intellect is, we have more important things to worry about, don't we?"

Merlin shrugged. "You're the one who asked, sire."

"Merlin – shut up."

Merlin fell quiet for once when Arthur asked. Normally this would concern the prince a bit (since Merlin  _never_  shut his mouth when he was told) but he was too busy trying to figure things out. _Okay, Merlin's apparently passed the first two of these 'tests.' The third could begin any time now… it could have already started!_ He whipped his head around, half-expecting to see Merlin gone again, but the servant was simply looking at him, an eyebrow raised as he tried to figure out what was going through his master's mind – probably so that he could poke holes in whatever it was Arthur was thinking, Arthur thought ruefully.

"Hey, Arthur," Merlin said slowly.

Arthur ignored him, still trying to work through his muddled thoughts.  _Surely even if it_ is _his test, I can help him somehow… although I'd rather not be_ used _for his test like he was for mine…_ He winced inwardly, remembering the moment when he had had to choose between himself and Merlin – and had chosen to drink the "poison" to save Merlin's life. What scared him the most, although he wouldn't dare admit it, wasn't the prospect of being put in danger as a result of the test but that if Merlin were put in a similar situation to the one Arthur had been in, that the servant would choose the same thing Arthur had – to die for his friend.

Because that was, Arthur realized suddenly with full and startling clarity, what Merlin was – his _friend_.

"Um, Arthur," Merlin repeated.

Arthur shushed him.

"Arthur, seriously…"

" _Mer_ lin!" Arthur yelled, spinning to face his obnoxious servant. That was when he realized how distracted he'd been. He mentally cursed himself. He knew never to get lost in thought, especially in a potentially dangerous situation. He supposed that this magical forest could be messing with his mind but in all honesty it was more than likely just his wandering mind that was working against him today. "Oh," he said flatly as he noticed the bandits that were surrounding them from every direction. Where the heck had  _they_  come from? Arthur hadn't heard them creep out of the foliage and surely, even when lost in thought he should have heard them approach.

Then he grinned. "You think this is the last test?" he asked Merlin, unsheathing his sword from where he'd replaced it after finding Merlin sprawled on the ground. He spun it in his hand a couple of times to get a feel on the balance  _and_  unnerve the enemies like he did before every fight – although these enemies didn't seem unnerved in the slightest.

Merlin grimaced, glancing worriedly at Arthur. "I'm guessing that would be the most obvious answer since these men just popped up out of nowhere."

"Oh," said Arthur. "Magic."

"Yep," said Merlin. He didn't look worried, just resigned. But resigned to what? Surely he couldn't have already known what the test was? And even if he had, it was obvious that they were just going to have to fight their way through these thugs. Arthur wasn't sure how this proved that Merlin was worthy to have his curse lifted but he felt good about it – fighting was something that he could do; that he was good at. While he wasn't all that great at talking or sorting through feelings, he could swing a sword at an oncoming enemy and beat them with ease. He was just glad that he had gotten here on time – he shuddered to think about Merlin facing all of these men on his own, without Arthur to protect him.

"Merlin, what are you looking so glum about?" Arthur asked in a teasing tone as the magical bandits continued to circle. "At least I'm here – and you know what a wonderful fighter I am!"

Merlin shot him a look. "Still as modest as ever, I see."

Arthur smirked, mentally psyching himself up for the fight to come. "Was that actually a compliment?" he kidded.

"Sarcasm," was Merlin's one-lined response. Arthur glanced over at him, aware of how pale and in pain Merlin looked as he hugged his chest, trying to keep his broken rib still, swaying slightly on his face, bruises and cuts all over his body. He shot Merlin an encouraging smile.

"It's alright, Merlin," he said seriously. "This is going to be easy."

One of the bandits yelled and charged forward, Arthur driving his sword into their gut before pulling it free. He took a moment to grin cockily at his servant over his shoulder. "See?" he said. "Easy."

The gutted bandit stood up, a scowl on his undead face, brushed off his breeches, and lifted his weapon. Arthur felt the blood drain from his face. " _This_ ," he said gravely, "could prove to be a problem."

The man Arthur had just stuck with a sword hefted his weapon and screamed, "CHARGE!"

Arthur glanced at Merlin, told him to stay back, and turned to meet the on the advancing oncoming magical undead bandits – they didn't have a chance, but that didn't mean that Arthur wasn't going to go down fighting.

He slashed and hacked, disarmed a few, and took a nick to the shoulder. He hissed in pain and chopped off the arm of the bandit who'd done it. They might not be able to die, but it was pretty hard to fight when the arm wielding the sword was lying useless and limp on the forest floor. To Arthur's complete surprise, the 'disarmed' man only glanced at the missing limb before reaching down and grabbing the sword from his chopped off arm with the other hand, declaring, "It's just a flesh wound!"

Arthur didn't have time to contemplate this oddity any further because he was suddenly attacked from behind. It was only Merlin's shout – and somehow Merlin had managed to knock out or maybe even kill several attackers; how was that possible? – that warned him in time to spin and block the blow.

Unfortunately, he was caught off guard when another bandit leaped at him from the side when he was blocking the first blow and unable to defend himself further, the deadly blade in his hand arcing straight for Arthur's neck and there was  _nothing_ he could do about it.

" _No!_ " he heard Merlin yell as the servant watched the blade descend upon Arthur's exposed throat. Arthur was about to use the remaining seconds of his life to order Merlin to run when suddenly the man that had been trying to kill Arthur flew backwards through the air, hitting a tree and lying limp at the base.

Confused, Arthur spun around to face Merlin, and froze at the sight that greeted him.

Merlin's eyes were changing form a brilliant gold back to his normal blue.

Magic.

Merlin had…

Merlin had magic.

 


	18. Chapter 18

As quickly as the unbeatable warriors had appeared, they vanished into thin air, leaving Merlin and Arthur alone in the middle of the strange, ominous wood. Arthur was staring at his servant, mouth gaping open, and if it had not been such a tense situation, Merlin would have commented on how his master looked not unlike a large mouthed bass. As it was, Merlin's breath had caught in his throat and he was trembling slightly. He could barely think.  _He knows…_  Arthur  _knew_.

Merlin couldn't quite bring himself to look the prince in the eyes just yet, terrified at what he would find there. Hatred, hurt, betrayal, murder… he could imagine any of these flickering in Arthur's accusing gaze. But  _was_ it accusing? Did Merlin really expect his master – his  _friend_ , who had just risked everything for him  _again_  – to  _kill_  him for his magic? In the time that Merlin had been in Camelot, Arthur had most definitely changed. He was more mature now, a better man, more prone to make his own decisions and decide how  _he_  felt about things than he had been before. Arthur was a better man. Surely…

Still, Merlin found it hard to raise his eyes. He wasn't ashamed of what he had done and  _certainly_ not of who he was, but he wasn't quite ready to face the truth yet – the truth that Arthur knew about his magic. Arthur  _knew_.

"Congratulations." Merlin's heart jolted and he saw Arthur jump slightly out of the corner of his eye as an all-too-familiar voice wafted through the trees. Something was different, though – the voice was lighter, happier, livelier. The dryad walked into view but she now seemed to be more of a spirit than a human, skin tinged green, no longer wrinkled. In fact, Merlin gaped, and he was sure Arthur was staring, flabbergasted, as well, she looked at  _least_  fifty years younger, vibrant and healthy. She was  _beautiful_. Magical. She no longer stooped but almost  _glided_  and the earth seemed more alive wherever she stepped. "You have proved yourself worthy of having the curse lifted, Merlin, and the earth has restored her blessing on you – and on me."

"You mean, when the charm broke, it made you like that?"

The dryad smiled. "No, my appearance is for me to decide. My Mother's broken gift had nothing to do with it. I just presented myself in the form of an old crone because I know how humans are, especially the  _men_. I didn't want to  _distract_  you."

Merlin cleared his throat uncomfortably and jumped as Arthur spoke, his voice tight and unreadable. Merlin winced, hoping that the edge to the prince's voice wasn't because of him, although he figured there was a fairly good chance it was. Merlin  _had_  just used magic in front of Arthur, after all.

"Fine.  _Magic_  aside," Arthur's tone didn't suggest whether he was irritated, angry, or still in shock. It was almost  _too_ calm. "How exactly did attacking us with unbeatable warriors prove Merlin's worth?"

"It was to see how far I'd go for you," Merlin said softly, finally meeting Arthur's eyes, which had snapped in his direction the moment his servant had started speaking. The blue orbs were filled with disbelief, confusion, and maybe a little – dare he think it? –  _awe_  as he regarded the seemingly powerless man in front of him.

"What?" Arthur said flatly and Merlin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Honestly, Arthur could be so  _thick_  at times. He supposed he should cut the prince a little slack, though, because not only had he just found out that his servant possessed the most illegal thing in Camelot but he also effectively held said servant's  _life_  in his hands. Merlin figured he should probably give the jokes a rest until Arthur made his decision on how he was going to deal with this new information.

Merlin kept his eyes locked on Arthur's – it was much easier now to meet and hold his gaze now that he had actually worked up the nerve to just  _do it_  – and said patiently, "Arthur, you have to understand that I've only kept my secret to keep you safe."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, looking exasperated and more than a little dubious. The dryad, meanwhile, simply watched the exchange, unmoving and silent. "Excuse me?" the prince retorted. "You kept your…" he hesitated, "… _magic_  secret to protect  _me_? How does that work, exactly? Normally sorcerers hide their powers to save their  _own_  skin!"

Merlin felt his face heat up but remained calm, uttering only one correction in response. "Warlock."

Arthur glared at him. "What?"

"War. Lock," Merlin enunciated. "I'm not a sorcerer. I'm a warlock. There  _is_  a difference, you know." He crossed his arms across his skinny torso, not wanting to further agitate Arthur but not exactly fancying the idea of lying down and letting the prince tromp all over him, either. Besides, Arthur  _needed_  to understand.

Arthur frowned. "What would that be?"

"Warlocks are  _born_  with their magic, Arthur. It is a part of them."

"That's not possible." Even as he said it, Arthur looked like he might be second guessing his own words. Merlin could almost hear Arthur's thoughts.  _Or is it?_  the prince was probably thinking.

"It's  _very_ rare," Merlin admitted, his eyes finding the ground again, not one to boast about how powerful he really was. Heck, even  _he_ wasn't sure exactly how powerful he was yet, and he  _was_ him (Merlin blinked a few times as he tried to figure  _that_  one out)! "But I didn't choose my magic, Arthur.  _It_  chose  _me_." He paused, either for dramatic effect or to let the words sink in.

"Alright," Arthur said slowly, eyes narrowing. "Suppose what you're saying is true—"

"It is," Merlin cut in emphatically, Arthur shooting him his signature "shut-up-before-I-make-you" look.

"If it's  _true_ , it doesn't explain how keeping that a secret kept  _me_  safe, rather than  _you!_ "

Merlin couldn't refrain from rolling his eyes this time. "Okay, fine – staying alive  _is_  a definite bonus." Arthur smirked in triumph and Merlin  _really_ wanted to call him a prat or a dollop head or even a dollop headed prat but he wasn't sure if this was the right time so he just kept quiet. "But I just… didn't want you to have to choose… between your father and me. I wouldn't want to put you in that position. It wouldn't be fair. And… if you  _did_  choose to keep my secret (and don't look at me like that; despite what you say, I know you care),  _you_  would be in danger as well. Your father might not execute you for harboring a warlock, but he sure as heck wouldn't let it go, either."

Arthur's face softened and he sighed. "You're right about that." He ran a hand down his face. "Wow. This is just… wow." Merlin wasn't sure if Arthur's reaction was a good or bad thing. He started to ask but Arthur held up a hand and shut him up. "Give me a second," the prince ordered. He closed his eyes, probably gathering his thoughts, and then opened them, back to business.

"So what was this about seeing how 'far' you'd go for me?"

Merlin heard the teasing lilt to his master's voice and couldn't help but grin, realizing that while Arthur still hadn't come to terms with all he had just learned, he was going to hear his servant out. Merlin wondered if it was just a flicker of the light or if there really  _was_  a thankful gleam in Arthur's eye as he regarded Merlin.

"The first test," the dryad interrupted now that the moment was over, "was to see how much Merlin cared about those he loves, what he works for. Given a chance to reside somewhere with no pain, no suffering, and no heartbreak, just peace and tranquility, he had to choose what was most important to him: his own comfort or his friends, family, and destiny." Merlin's eyes widened at the mention of destiny but Arthur hadn't even seemed to notice the dryad's last word. His gaze was still fixed on her, waiting to hear more. "Merlin passed the first test when he willingly left the Silent Wood and returned to a world where he would once again feel pain and suffering.

"The second test was to see if Merlin could overcome his guilt, his fears, and his failures." Merlin winced, memories of the terrible things he had seen and the horrific guilt that had torn through him during the second test. He was faced with his deepest, darkest terrors and everything that he's ever done that he has questioned. He was held captive in his own mind, forced to live his worst nightmares over and over…"

Arthur, who had apparently noticed the blood draining from his servant's face as the magical being wore on about the emotional turmoil he had been forced into, intervened, stepping forward protectively and snapping, "I think we get the picture." The dryad glanced at Merlin, then at Arthur, and nodded, a small smirk playing at her lips. Merlin sent Arthur a quick, grateful look but wasn't sure if the prince interpreted it or even noticed it. His eyes were back on the woman, fury in them. "Was that really necessary? Making Merlin suffer like that?"

"The second test was to measure his heart, to see if he had the capacity to work through his fears and weaknesses."

"But I didn't," Merlin said sadly, eyes cast down, ashamed. Arthur gazed at him, sympathy welling up inside of him. The prince didn't know what sort of turmoil the witch – er,  _dryad_  – was going on about, but it still infuriated him that Merlin had gone through that. Now he realized what had been happening when he found Merlin twitching on the ground, muttering and sweating and looking like he was in the midst of a feverish nightmare – because he  _had_ been in the midst of a feverish nightmare, ensnared in the uncertainty of his own mind. Arthur hated seeing Merlin like this, so scared and ashamed when he didn't have anything to be ashamed of – and Arthur realized something because of this.

Sorcerer – warlock, rather – or not, there was one thing Arthur knew, and that was that Merlin _was_  his friend. He still hadn't fully comprehended all that had just happened, but he wasn't about to condemn his friend for something he was born with. Sure, their relationship had changed and some mending would have to take place, but they could do it. But Merlin didn't need to be going through this alone – and that was why the prince was trying to stick up for his servant, to show that  _he_  was willing to make an effort to heal the rift if Merlin was. He almost snorted, realizing what a  _girlish_  turn his thoughts had taken.

Shaking the thought, Arthur reached out hesitantly before putting a strong hand on Merlin's shoulder. The young man – really, he was the same Merlin that Arthur had known all along, wasn't he? – blinked up at him, face tormented. "That's not true, Merlin – you  _did_  work through the fear and uncertainty."

Merlin scowled. "Only because  _you_  snapped me out of it," he groused almost accusingly.

Arthur blinked before growling, "And bloody lucky you were that I  _was_  there, too – it looks like we  _both_  need each other more than we realize."

Merlin allowed a small smile to appear. "Well,  _you_  need  _me_ , that's for sure."

Arthur grimaced. "Uh-huh. Whatever boosts your self-confidence."

"Ahem." Both men looked back at the dryad, who was watching them, an expression of part amusement and mostly exasperation on her face. "Yes, Merlin, Arthur helped you overcome your fear and darkness, but that is because he is  _meant_  to. You are like—"

"—two sides of the same coin, yeah, I know," Merlin muttered, "We've heard this before."

Her brow wrinkled, violet eyes suddenly confused. "I was going to say that you are like brothers – connected by the common bond every living thing on the earth shares. Prince, commoner, magic, mortal, tree, beast… we all have bonds, and some are stronger than others."

"Oh," was all Merlin could think to say.

"And finally, the third test was to see just how far Merlin would go for his friends," the dryad concluded. "He was willing to – literally – place his life in  _your_  hands, Arthur Pendragon, to save your life. He did not have to do it; he could have chosen to keep his secret and save himself, but he willingly chose to reveal his magic to save you.

"And now," she went on, eyes looking between the two of them, "you have a choice." Both Merlin and Arthur stared at her. "Seeing as how you have passed the three tests and the Earth has restored her blessings upon her children, you can choose to either allow the prince to know about your magic… or not."

Merlin looked at Arthur and the prince looked back at him. The dryad watched them both coolly, eyebrows raised expectantly as she awaited the decision. "Arthur…?" Merlin asked, his stomach tying itself in knots. He wasn't sure which Arthur would prefer but if he said he wanted to forget, then that might mean that he just couldn't accept Merlin and his magic right now and that he wanted to put the whole incident out of mind. On the other hand, if he said he  _wanted_  to remember, that could either indicate that he wanted to work this out and maybe even eventually come to terms with Merlin's magic  _or_  that he yearned to see justice served and was planning on hauling Merlin back to Camelot to see him executed. Somehow, though, especially with the thoughtful concern the prince was radiating in his servant's general direction, Merlin had a hard time believing that the latter was the case.

Finally Arthur said, "I think  _you_  should decide, Merlin."

Oh, how much those words meant to the warlock! Arthur trusted him enough that he was going to let  _him_ decide, how to handle this odd situation they found themselves in. To know that Arthur wasn't condemning him for what he was born with was more than the warlock could have asked for. He thought about how wonderful it would be to finally have no secrets, to be able to be open and honest with Arthur. He opened his mouth to say he wanted the memory to stay when he stopped.

"I… I think…" He closed his eyes, opened them, and then said with resolve that he didn't feel, "I think it should remain a secret… for now."

He actually saw a flash of hurt enter the prince's eyes and it did nothing to quell the slice of uncertainty in his own chest. He didn't want Arthur to forget; he wanted Arthur to be his friend, someone he could talk to about anything… even magic. But…

"It's not that I don't trust you, Arthur," he said. "I do – more than any man I know." He felt that he was getting a little too 'girly' and quickly added, "Even if you  _are_  a prat." Arthur chuckled. "But like I said earlier, I don't want to put you in that position. I kept my secret for a reason. Besides, the more people that know about me, the harder it will be to keep my powers a secret – and I  _need_  to keep my head on my shoulders so I can keep saving your ungrateful backside."

Arthur blinked at him before snorting. "Right," he said.

Merlin's mouth flew open. "Did you not just  _see_  what I did with the bandits?" he spluttered indignantly. "I  _saved_  your life!"

"Yeah, yeah," Arthur grinned, and seeing that the prince was joking, Merlin, too, smiled.

"Besides, even if to you it never happened, at least I know that I'll have nothing to worry about when the time comes… right?"

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. "We'll see."

Merlin chuckled weakly.

"You will remember everything else," the woman informed them. "And when the time is right, when the secret is revealed in its time, when it was meant to be, you will recall this moment with full clarity… and realize that continuing to keep Merlin's magic a secret was a  _mutual_  decision."

Merlin smiled, not wanting to forget how wonderfully it felt to have Arthur know but realizing that a mutual decision would be the best to seal their friendship in the future. He nodded. "Right."

"This is the Mother's gift to both of you for passing the tests and restoring her gift."

"Thank you," Merlin said.

"Yes," Arthur agreed, his eyes a bit troubled.

"Are you sure, Arthur?" Merlin asked quickly. "I mean, it is  _your_  memory… it's not really my place to—"

"Shut up,  _Mer_ lin," Arthur griped, causing Merlin to grin. "You're right – it's for the best… for now." He smirked. "But when the time comes for revelation part two… you had better believe that you will have more chores than stars in the sky for lying to me all this time, even if it was for, as you say, my benefit."

Merlin laughed. "Wouldn't have it any other way." He turned to the dryad. "I'll admit I wasn't too fond of you when the curse was upon me but you've grown on me."

"Now that I've become a beautiful specter?" she asked, frowning.

"No, now that I realize that with allowing Arthur to follow and giving me another chance, that you were helping me all along. You've been a real friend, even if it didn't seem like it at times…uh…?"

"Gaia," she responded, purplish eyes, still ancient and knowing despite her now young appearance. She smiled warmly. "Well… I may have intervened a few times… directing Arthur in your direction and allowing him to follow you when normally you would face the tests alone…  _but_ I couldn't very well let Emrys die before his time because of his own clumsy actions, could I?"

Arthur snorted, then asked, "Wait, who's Emrys?"

Gaia and Merlin looked at one another before saying before Merlin smiled sheepishly and answered, "That's a long story… and, well, you'd just forget it anyway, you know, until my secret is out again and we both remember this moment… you know…"

He grimaced, knowing he sounded stupid but he was so relieved and at peace, despite the constant ache in his head and ribs from his injuries, but he didn't really care. When the time came, Arthur  _would_  accept him. Because, in a way, he already had.

Arthur huffed. "One day,  _Mer_ lin, we are going to sit down and you are going to tell me  _all_  your secrets."

Merlin made a face. "That might take a while," he admitted.

"Somehow," Arthur decided, "that doesn't make me feel any better." He rolled his eyes, smiled at his servant, and said, "Now, let's get you back to Camelot so Gaius can patch you up, eh? Unless…?" He looked imploringly at Gaia, who laughed but shook her head.

"I'm sorry, I've interfered enough. Besides, healing magic isn't my forte – that's more of a nymph thing. You'll have heal on your own, Merlin." She looked at them both. "Are you ready?"

Merlin and Arthur looked at each other, knowing that a tiny piece – or not so tiny, depending on how you looked at it – of this adventure would be missing,  _just_  until the time came for their destiny to unfold the way it was meant to, and yet having comfort in the knowledge that no matter what, their friendship would withstand the storms. Arthur's reaction to Merlin's magic had been proof of that.

"Okay, let's go," said Arthur, "and get this idiot home."

"Prat," said Merlin.

"Smart-mouth," Arthur shot back.

"Dollop head," Merlin retorted.

" _Men,_ " Gaia the dryad grumbled in exasperation, rolling her eyes as she used her magic to send them on their way. Even though she hadn't particularly enjoyed her time in the form of an old, wrinkled, bitter lady, she was glad of it. The tree spirit sighed contentedly, her forest, her home, now free of playful bickering and witty banter, and realized that she had quite grown to like Merlin and Arthur, despite her bitter, even stoic, appearance as the old witch lady.

"Someday," she said softly before quite literally melting into the forest, her voice becoming thought,  _my people and the nymphs and dwarves and elves and warlocks will be free to roam… but until then, at least I know that Emrys and the Once and Future King are strong and brave and loyal enough to save the world that once was…_  She laughed quietly to herself, remembering the tumble that had started all of this in the first place.

That is, if Emrys hadn't managed to get himself killed by tripping over a stick and falling in a hole before destiny began its course, anyway…

**THE END**


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